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THE  GATHERING  OF 
BROTHER    HILARIUS 


UNIFORM  WITH  THIS  VOLUME : 

THE  ROADMENDER 

By  MICHAEL  FAIRLESS 
Elustratcd  by  E.  "W.  Waite 

THE  STORY  OF  MY  HEART 

By  RICHARD  JEFFERIES 
Illustrated  by  E.  W.  Waite 


ji'.lll^/iilyij!MIWy|;l^-Jji^\^ 


(14.1   l.^V>^) 


This  was  the  gathering  of  Brother  Hilarins  ' 

(Page   141) 


THE  GATHERING  OF 
BROTHER    HILARIUS 


BY 

MICHAEL    FAIRLESS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  ROADMENDER" 
"THE  GREY  BRETHREN" 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.   BUTTON  &  GO. 
1913 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  Turnbull  de  Spears,  Printers,  Edinburgh 


a.  /Bb,  2>.  ©♦ 


"  To  those  dearworthy  ones 
to  whom  I  owe  all ; 
I  give  that  which  is  theirs  already. 


Through  this  little  book  runs  the  road  of  life,  the 
common  road  of  men,  the  white  highway  that  Hilarius 
watched  from  the  monastery  gate  and  Brother  Ambrose 
saw  nearing  its  end  in  the  Jerusalem  of  his  heart. 

The  book  is  a  romance.  It  may  be  read  as  a  romance 
of  the  Black  Death  and  a  monk  with  an  artist's  eyes ; 
but  for  the  author  it  is  a  romance  of  the  image  of  God. 
While  the  Divine  Face  is  being  unveiled  for  Hilarius  in 
the  masque  that  shocks  and  bewilders  him,  and  the 
secret  of  sorrow  and  sin,  of  death  and  life  and  love,  is 
told  by  his  speechless  and  dying  "little  maid,"  we,  if 
we  choose,  may  hear  again  the  Roadmender's  epilogue 
to  the  story  of  the  man  of  this  earth,  the  man  of  the 
common  highway : — " '  Dust  and  ashes  and  a  house  of 
devils,'  he  cries ;  and  there  comes  back  for  answer,  '  Rex 
concupiscet  decorem  tuum.'  " 

M.  E.  D. 


Vll 


CONTENTS 


PART   I 

THE  SEED 

CHAP, 

I.  Blind  Eyes  in  the  Forest 
II.  The  Love  of  Prior  Stephen 
III.  The  King's  Song-Bird 


PAGE 

3 
13 
19 


PART   II 

THE  FLOWER 

I.  The  City  of  Pure  Gold    . 
II.  The  City  that  Hilarius  saw 

III.  A  Sending  from  the  Lord 

IV.  Blind  Eyes  which  could  see 

V.  The  White  Way  and  Where  it  led 
VI.  A  Dark  Finding     . 
VII,  The  Coming  of  Hunger  and  Love 


33 

41 
47 
55 
61 
70 
82 


IX 


CONTENTS 

PART  in 
THE  FRUIT 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  How  LONG,  O  Lord,  how  long  !    .  .97 

11.  Mary's  Lilies  .  .  .  .103 

III.  Open  Eyes  at  the  Gate    .  .  ,110 

IV.  The  Passing  of  Prior  Stephen     .  .       117 
V.  "  Gabriel,    make    this    Man    to    under- 
stand THE  Vision  " — Dan.  viii.  16     .       122 

VI.  The  Hunger  of  Dickon  the  Woodman    .  128 
VII.  The    Vision    of    the    Evening    and    the 

Morning  ....  133 

VIII.  "  Behold  the  Fields  are  white  "  .  138 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

This      was      the       gathering      of      Brother 

HiLARius  .        •        .         •         •  Frontispiece 

Since  when  did  man  paint  the  Blessed 
Mother  with  grey  eyes  and  black  hair 

— CURLY   TOO,    l'    faith  ?      ....  14 

HiLARius     found     his     Mistress,     her    hands 

idle  on  her  knee    .....         36 

One  comes  who  will  open  more   cage   doors 

THAN   thine   and    MINE,    LAD  ...  48 

At     a    VILLAGE    HOSTEL    THEY    FOUND    ROUGH    BUT 

friendly  entertainment  ...         64 

Kneeling,  he  took  both  her  little  brown 
hands,  and  his  tears  fell  fast  as  he 
kissed  them     ......         92 

Her  voice  was  suddenly  sweet       ,         .         ,       108 

Tele  poor  also  crowded  to  the  monastery 
gate  and  were  fed,  ay,  even  if  the 
Brethren  went  hungry  .         .         .       120 

xi 


PART  I 

THE   SEED 


CHAPTER  I 

BLIND    EYES    IN    THE    FOREST 

HiLARius  stood  at  the  Monastery  gate,  looking  away 
down  the  smooth  well-kept  road  to  the  highway  beyond. 
It  lay  quiet  and  serene  in  the  June  sunshine,  the  white 
way  to  the  outer  world,  and  not  even  a  dust  cloud  on 
the  horizon  promised  the  approach  of  the  train  of 
sumpter  mules  laden  with  meats  for  the  bellies  and 
cloth  for  the  backs  of  the  good  Bretliren  within.  The 
Cellarer  lacked  wine,  the  drug  stores  in  the  farmery 
were  running  low ;  last,  but  not  least,  the  Precentor 
had  bespoken  precious  colours,  rich  gold,  costly  vellum, 
and  on  these  the  thoughts  of  Hilarius  tarried  "vvith 
anxious  expectation. 

On  his  left  lay  the  forest,  home  of  his  longing  imagin- 
ings. The  Monastery  wall  crept  up  one  side  of  it,  and 
over  the  top  the  great  trees  peered  and  beckoned  ^^ith 
their  tossing,  feathery  branches.  Twice  had  Hilarius 
walked  there,  attending  the  Prior  as  he  paced  slowly 
and  silently  along  the  mossy  ways,  under  the  strong, 
springing  pines  ;    and  the  occasions  were  stored  in  his 

3 


THE    SEED 

memory  with  the  glories  of  St  Benedict's  Day  and  Our 
Lady's  Festivals.  Away  to  the  right,  within  the  great 
enclosure,  stretched  the  Monastery  lands,  fair  to  the 
eye,  with  orchard  and  fruitful  field,  teeming  mth  glad, 
unhurried  labour. 

At  a  little  elevation,  overlooking  the  whole  domain, 
rose  the  Priory  buildings,  topped  by  the  Church,  crown 
and  heart  of  the  place,  signing  the  sign  of  the  Cross  over 
the  daily  hfe  and  work  of  the  Brethren,  itself  the  centre 
of  that  life,  the  object  of  that  work,  ever  unfinished 
because  love  knows  not  how  to  make  an  end.  To  the 
monks  it  was  a  page  in  the  history  of  the  hfe  of  the 
Order,  written  in  stone,  blazoned  with  beauty  of  the 
world's  treasure ;  a  page  on  which  each  generation 
might  spell  out  a  word,  perchance  add  a  line,  to  the 
greater  glory  of  God  and  St  Benedict.  They  were 
always  at  work  on  it,  stretcliing  out  eager  hands  for  the 
rare  stuffs  and  precious  stones  devout  men  brought 
from  overseas,  finding  a  place  for  the  best  of  every 
ordered  craft ;  their  shame  an  uncouth  line  or  graceless 
arch,  their  glory  each  completed  pinnacle  and  fretted 
spire ;  ever  restoring,  enlarging,  repairing,  spendthrift 
of  money  and  time  in  the  service  of  the  House  of  the 
Lord. 

The  sun  shone  hot  on  grey  wall  and  green  garth  ;  the 
spirit  of  insistent  peace  brooded  over  the  place.     The 

4 


BLIND    EYES    IN    THE    FOREST 

wheeling  white  pigeons  circhng  the  cloister  walls  cried 
peace ;  the  sculptured  saints  in  their  niches  over  the 
west  door  gave  the  blessing  of  peace  ;  an  old.  blind 
monk  crossed  the  garth  with  the  hesitating  gait  of 
habit  lately  acquired — on  his  face  was  great  peace. 
It  rested  everywhere,  this  peace  of  prayerful  service, 
where  the  clang  of  the  blacksmith's  hammer  smote 
the  sound  of  the  Office  bell. 

Hilarius,  at  the  gate,  questioned  the  road  again  and 
ao-ain  for  sign  of  the  belated  train.  It  was  vexatious  ; 
the  Prior's  lips  would  take  a  thinner  line,  for  the  mules 
were  already  some  days  overdue ;  and  it  was  ill  to 
keep  the  Prior  waiting.  The  soft  June  wind  swept  the 
fragrance  of  Mary's  lilies  across  to  the  lad ;  he  turned 
his  dreamy  blue  eyes  from  the  highway  to  the  forest. 
The  scent  of  the  pinewoods  rushed  to  meet  his  sudden 
thought.  Should  he,  dare  he,  break  cloister,  and  taste 
the  wondrous  delight  of  an  unwalled  world  ?  It  were  a 
sin,  a  grave  sin,  in  a  newly-made  novice,  cloister-bred. 
The  sweet,  pungent  smell  overpowered  him ;  the  trees 
beckoned  with  their  long  arms  and  slender  fingers  ;  the 
voice  of  the  forest  called,  and  Hilarius,  answering, 
walked  swiftly  away,  with  bowed  head  and  beating 
heart,  between  the  sunburnt  pine-boles. 

At  last  he  ventured  to  stop  and  look  around  him,  his 
fair  hair  aflame  in  the  sunlight,  his  eyes  full  of  awe 

5 


THE    SEED 

of  this  arched  and  pillared  city  of  mystery  and 
wonder. 

It  was  very  silent.  Here  and  there  a  coney  peeped 
out  and  fled,  and  a  woodpecker  toiled  with  sharp, 
effective  stroke.  Hilarius'  eyes  shone  as  he  lifted  his 
head  and  caught  sight  of  the  sunlit  blue  between  the 
great  green-fringed  branches  :  it  was  as  if  Our  Lady 
trailed  her  gracious  robe  across  the  tree-tops.  Then,  as 
he  bathed  his  thirsty  soul  in  the  great  sea  of  light  and 
shade,  cool  depths  and  shifting  colours,  the  sense  of  his 
wrong-doing  slipped  from  him,  and  joy  replaced  it — joy 
so  great  that  his  heart  ached  with  it.  He  went  on  his 
way,  singing  Lauda  Syon,  his  eyes  following  the  pine- 
boles,  and  presently,  coming  out  into  an  open  glade, 
halted  in  amazement. 

A  flower  incarnate  stood  before  him ;  stood — nay, 
danced  in  the  wind.  Over  the  sunny  sward  two  little 
scarlet-clad  feet  chased  each  other  in  rhythmic  maze ; 
dainty  little  brown  hands  spread  the  folds  of  the  deep 
blue  skirt ;  a  bodice,  silver-laced,  served  as  stalk,  on 
which  balanced,  lightly  swaying,  the  flower  of  flowers 
itself.  Hilarius'  eyes  travelled  upwards  and  rested 
there.  Cheeks  like  a  sunburnt  peach,  lips  a  scarlet 
bow ;  shimmering,  tender,  laughing  grey  eyes  curtained 
by  long  curling  lashes  ;  soft  tendrils  of  curly  hair,  blue 
black  in  the  shadows,  hiding  the  low  level  brow.     A 


BLIND    EYES    IN    THE    FOREST 

sight  for  gods,  but  not  for  monks ;  above  all,  not  for 
untutored  novices  such  as  Hilarius. 

His  sin  had  found  him  out ;  it  was  the  Devil,  the 
lovely  lady  of  St  Benedict ;  he  drew  breath  and  crossed 
himself  hastily  with  a  murmured  Apage  Satanas  ! 

The  dancer  stopped,  conscious  perhaps  of  a  chill  in 
the  wind. 

"  0  what  a  pretty  boy  !  "  she  cried  gaily.  "  Playing 
truant,  I  dare  wager.     Come  and  dance  !  " 

Hilarius  crimsoned  with  shame  and  horror. 

"  Woman,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  trembled  some- 
what, "  art  thou  not  shamed  to  deck  thyself  in  this 
devil's  guise  ?  " 

The  dancer  bit  her  hp  and  stamped  her  little  red 
shoe  angrily. 

"  No  more  devil's  guise  than  thine  own,"  she  retorted, 
eyeing  his  semi-monastic  garb  with  scant  favour.  "  Can 
a  poor  maid  not  practise  her  steps  in  the  heart  of  a 
forest,  but  a  cloister-bred  youngster  must  cry  devil's 
guise  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  her  anger  vanished  like  a  summer  cloud, 
and  she  broke  into  peal  on  peal  of  joyous  laughter. 
"  Poor  lad,  with  thy  talk  of  devils  ;  hast  thou  never 
looked  a  maid  in  the  eyes  before  ?  " 

Shrewdly  hit,  mistress  ;  never  before  has  Hilarius 
looked  a  maid  in  the  eyes,  and  now  he  drops  his  own. 

7 


THE    SEED 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  it  is  sin  to  deck  the  body  thus, 
and  entice  men's  souls  to  their  undoing  ?  " 

"  And  what  is  the  matter  with  my  poor  body,  may  it 
please  you,  kind  sir  ?  "  she  asked  demurely,  and  stood 
with  downcast  eyes,  hke  a  scolded  child. 

"  It  is  wrong  to  deck  the  body,"  began  Hilarius, 
softening  at  her  attitude,  "  because,  because " 

Again  the  merry  laugh  rang  out. 

"  Because,  because — nay.  Father  "  (with  a  mock 
reverence),  "  methinks  thy  sermon  is  not  ready  ;  let 
it  simmer  awhile,  and  /  will  catechise.  How  old  art 
thou  ?  "     She  held  up  her  small  finger  admonishingly. 

"  Seventeen,"  replied  Hilarius,  surprised  into  reply. 

"  Art  thou  a  monk  ?  " 

"  Nay,  a  novice  only." 

"  Hast  thou  ever  loved  ?  " 

Hilarius  threw  up  his  hands  in  shocked  indignation, 
but  she  went  on  unconcerned — 

"  'Twas  a  foolish  question ;  the  answer's  writ  large 
for  any  maid  to  read.  But  tell  me,  why  art  thou 
angry  at  the  thought  of  love  ?  " 

Hilarius  felt  the  ground  slipping  from  under  his  feet. 

"  There  is  an  evil  love,  and  a  holy  love  ;  it  is  good  to 
love  God  and  the  Saints  and  the  Brethren " 

"  But  not  the  sisters  ?  "  the  wicked  little  laugh 
pealed  out.     "  Poor  sisters  !     Why,  boy,  the  world  is  full 


BLIND    EYES    IN    THE    FOREST 

of  love,  and  not  all  for  the  Saints  and  the  Brethren,  and 
it  is  good — good — good  !  "  She  opened  her  arms  wide. 
"  'Tis  the  devil  and  the  monks  who  call  it  e\dl.  Hast 
thou  never  seen  the  birds  mate  in  the  springtime,  nor 
heard  the  nightingale  sing  ?  " 

"  It  is  well  for  a  husband  to  love  his  wife  and  a  mother 
her  cliild.  That  is  love  in  measure,  but  not  so  high  as 
the  love  we  bear  to  God  and  the  Saints  !  "  quoth 
Hilarius  sententiously,  mindful  of  yesterday's  homily 
in  the  Frater. 

"But  how  can'st  thou  know  that  thou  lovest  the 
Saints  ?  "  the  dancer  persisted. 

How  did  he  know  ? 

"  How  dost  thou  know  that  thou  lovest  thy  mother  ?  " 
he  cried  triumphantly,  forgetting  the  reprobate  nature 
of  the  catechist,  and  anxious  only  to  come  well  out  of 
the  wordy  war. 

But  the  unexpected  happened. 

"  Dost  thou  dare  speak  to  me  of  my  mother  ?  /,  love 
her  ? — I  hate  her ;  "  and  she  flung  herself  down  on  the 
grass  in  a  passion  of  weeping. 

Even  a  master  of  theology  is  helpless  before  a 
woman's  tears. 

"  Maid,  maid,"  said  Hilarius,  in  deep  distress,  "  indeed 
I  did  not  mean  to  vex  thee ;  "  and  he  came  up  and 
laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 


THE    SEED 

So  successfully  can  the  Prince  of  Darkness  simulate 
grief ! 

The  dancer  sat  up  and  brushed  away  her  tears  ;  she 
looked  fairer  and  more  flower-hke  than  before,  sitting 
on  the  green  sward  looking  up  at  him  through  shining 
lashes. 

"  There,  boy,  'tis  naught.  How  could'st  thou  know  ? 
Bat  what  of  thine  own  mother  ?  " 

"  I  know  not." 

"  Nay,  what  is  this  ?     And  thy  father  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  gentle^  knight  who  died  in  battle  ere  I 
knew  him.  I  came  a  little  child  to  the  Monastery,  and 
know  no  other  place." 

"  Ah," — vindictively, — "  then  thy  mother  may  have 
been  a  light  o'  love." 

"  Light  of  love  ;  it  has  a  wondrous  fair  sound,"  said 
Hilarius  with  a  smile. 

The  maid  looked  at  him  speechless. 

"  Go  home,  Boy,'''  she  said  at  last  emphatically. 

Just  then  a  lad,  a  tumbler  by  his  dress,  pushed  a  way 
through  the  undergrowth,  and  stood  grinm'ng  at  the 
pair. 

"  So,  Gia  !  "  he  said.  "  We  must  make  haste  ;  the 
others  wait." 

"  'Tis  my  brother,"  said  the  dancer,  "  and  " —  point- 
ing  to   the   bag  slung  across  the  youth's  shoulder — 

10 


BLIND    EYES    IN    THE    FOREST 

"  I  trust  he  hath  a  fine  fat  hen  from  thy  Monastery  for 
our  meal." 

Hilarius  broke  into  a  cold  sweat. 

The  Convent's  hens  !  The  Saints  preserve  us  !  Was 
nothing  sacred,  and  were  the  Ten  Commandments 
written  solely  for  use  in  the  Monasteries  ? 

"  'Tis  stealing,"  he  said  feebly. 

"  'Tis  stealing,"  the  dancer  mocked.  "  Hast  thou 
another  sermon  ready,  Sir  Preacher  ?  " 

"  Empty  bellies  make  light  fingers,"  quoth  the  youth. 
"  Did'st  thou  ever  hunger,  master  ?  " 

"  There  is  the  fast  of  Lent  wliich  presses  somewhat," 
said  Hilarius. 

"  But  ever  a  meal  certain  once  in  the  day  ?  "  queried 
the  girl. 

"  Aye,  surely,  and  collation  also  ;  and  Sunday  is  no 
fast." 

The  mischievous  apes  laughed — how  they  laughed  ! 

"  So,  good  Preacher,"  said  the  dancer  at  last,  rising 
to  her  feet,  "  thou  dost  know  it  is  wrong  to  steal ;  but 
hast  never  felt  hunger.  Thou  dost  know  it  is  wrong  to 
love  any  but  God,  the  Saints,  and  thy  mother  ;  but  thou 
hast  never  known  a  mother,  nor  felt  what  it  was  to  love. 
BKnd  eyes  !  Blind  eyes  !  the  very  forest  could  teach 
thee  these  things  an  thou  would'st  learn.  Farewell, 
good  novice,  back  to  thy  Saints  and  thy  nursery  ;    for 

II 


THE    SEED 

me  the  wide,  wide  world ;  hunger  and  love — love — 
love  !  " 

She  seized  her  brother's  hand,  and  together  they 
danced  away  like  two  bright  butterflies  among  the 
trees. 

Hilarius  stared  after  them  until  they  disappeared,  and 
then  with  dazed  eyes  and  drooping  head  took  his  way 
back  to  the  Monastery.  The  train  of  mules  had  just 
arrived  ;  all  was  stir,  bustle,  and  explanation  ;  and  in 
the  thick  of  it  he  slipped  in  unseen,  unquestioned  ;  but 
he  was  hardly  conscious  of  tliis  mercy  vouchsafed  him, 
for  in  his  heart  reigned  desolation  and  doubt,  and  in  his 
ears  rang  the  dancer's  parting  cry,  "  Hunger  and  love 
— love — love  !  " 


12 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    LOVE    OF    PRIOR    STEPHEN 

Brother  Bernard,  the  Precentor,  dealt  out  gold,  paint 
and  vellum  with  generous  hand  to  his  favourite  pupil, 
and  wondered  at  his  downcast  look. 

"  Methinks  this  gold  is  dull.  Brother,"  Hilarius  said 
one  day,  fretfully,  to  his  old  master. 

And  again — 

"  'Tis  very  poor  vermilion." 

The  Brother  looked  at  him  enquiringly. 

"  Nay,  nay,  boy ;  'tis  thine  eyes  at  fault ;  naught 
ails  the  colours." 

Later,  the  Precentor  came  to  look  at  the  delicate 
border  Hilarius  was  setting  to  the  page  of  the  Nativity 
of  Our  Lady. 

"  Now  may  God  be  good  to  us  !  "  he  cried  with  up- 
lifted hands.  "  Since  when  did  man  paint  the  Blessed 
Mother  with  grey  eyes  and  black  hair — curly  too,  i' 
faith  ?  "  "^ 

Hilarius  crimsoned,  he  was  weary  of  limning  ever 
with  blue  and  gold,  he  faltered. 

13 


THE    SEED 

It  was  the  same  in  chapel.  The  insistent  question 
pursued  him  through  chant  and  psalm.  Did  he  really 
love  the  Saints — St  Benedict,  St  Scholastica,  St  Bernard, 
St  Hilary  ?  The  names  left  him  untouched  ;  but  his 
Hps  quivered  as  he  thought  of  the  great  love  between 
the  holy  brother  and  sister  of  his  Order.  If  he  had 
had  a  sister  would  they  have  loved  like  that  ? 

The  Saints'  Days  came  and  went,  and  he  scourged 
himself  with  the  repeated  question,  kneeling  with  burn- 
ing cheeks,  and  eyes  from  which  tears  were  not  absent,  in 
the  Chapel  of  the  Great  Mother.  "  Light  of  Love,"  the 
girl  had  called  his  mother ;  what  more  beautiful  name 
could  he  find  for  the  Queen  of  Saints  herself  ?  So  he 
prayed  in  his  simplicity  : — "  Great  Light  of  Love, 
Mother  of  my  mother,  grant  love,  love,  love,  to  thy 
poor  sinful  son  !  " 

The  question  came  in  his  daily  life. 

Did  he  love  the  Prior  ?  He  feared  him  ;  and  his 
voice  was  for  Hilarius  as  the  voice  of  God  Himself. 
Brother  John  ?  He  feared  him  too  ;  Brother  John's 
tongue  was  a  thing  to  fear.  Brother  Richard,  old,  half- 
blind  ?  Surely  he  loved  Brother  Richard  ? — sad,  help- 
less, and  lonely,  by  reason  of  his  infirmities — or  was  it 
only  pity  he  felt  for  liim  ? 

Nay,  let  be  ;  he  loved  them  all.  The  Monastery  was 
his  home,  the  Prior  liis  father,  the  monies  his  brethren  ; 

14 


Since  when  did  man  paint  the  Blessed  Mother 

with  grey  eyes  and  black  hair 

— curly  too,  /'  faith  ?  ' 

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THE     LOVE    OF    PRIOR    STEPHEN 

why  heed  the  wild  words  of  the  witch  in  the  forest  ? 
And  yet  what  was  it  she  had  said  ?  "  For  me  the  wide 
world,  hunger,  and  love — ^love — love  !  " 

He  wandered  in  the  Monastery  garden  and  was 
troubled  by  its  beauties.  Two  sulphur  butterflies 
sported  around  the  tall  white  lilies  at  the  farmery 
door.     Did  they  love  ? 

He  watched  the  sparrows  at  their  second  nesting, 
full  of  business  and  cheerful  bickerings.  Did  they 
love  ? 

She  had  said  the  answer  was  writ  large  for  him  to 
see  :  he  wandered  staring,  mde-eyed  but  sightless. 

At  last,  in  liis  sore  distress,  he  turned  to  the  Prior,  as 
the  shipwrecked  mariner  turns  to  the  sea-girt  rock  that 
towers  serene  and  unhurt  above  the  devouring  waves. 

The  Prior  heard  him  patiently,  mth  here  and  there  a 
shrewd  question.  When  the  halting  tale  was  told  he 
mused  awhile,  his  stern  blue  eyes  grew  tender,  and  a 
httle  smile  troubled  the  firm  line  of  his  mouth. 

"  My  son,"  he  said  at  length,  "  thou  art  in  the  wrong 
school ;  nursery,  was  it  the  maid  said  ?  A  shrewd  lass 
and  welcome  to  the  hen.  Thou  art  a  hmner  at  heart — 
Brother  Bernard  tells  of  thy  wondrous  skill  with  the 
brush — and  to  be  hnaner  thou  must  learn  to  hunger 
and  to  love  as  the  maid  said.  Ay,  boy,  and  to  be 
monk  too,  though  alack,  men  gainsay  it." 

15 


THE    SEED 

"  Father,"  said  Hilarius,  waxing  bold  from  excessive 
need,  "  did'st  thou  ever  love  as  the  maid  meant  ?  " 

"  Ay,  boy — thy  mother." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  the  boy  said 
timidly : — 

"  The  maid  said  she  might  be  light  of  love  ;  'tis  a 
beautiful  thought." 

The  Prior  started,  and  looked  at  him  curiously  : — 

"  What  did'st  thou  tell  the  maid  ?  " 

"  That  I  never  knew  her,  but  that  my  father  was  a 
gentle  knight  who  died  ere  I  saw  him ;  and  then  the 
maid  said  perchance  my  mother  was  Hght  of  love." 

"  Boy,"  said  the  Prior  gravely,  "  'tis  a  weary  tale, 
and  sad  of  telling.  Thy  mother  was  wondrous  fair 
without,  but  she  reckoned  love  lightly,  nay,  knew  it 
not  for  the  holy  thing  it  is,  but  thought  only  of  bodily 
lusts.  Pray  for  her  soul  " — liis  voice  grew  stern — "  as 
for  one  of  those  vipon  whom  God,  in  His  great  pity, 
may  have  mercy.  Thus  have  I  prayed  these  many 
years." 

Hilarius  looked  at  him  in  wide-eyed  horror  : — 

"  She  was  evil,  wicked,  my  mother  ?  " 

"  Ay — a  Hght  woman,  that  was  what  the  maid  meant." 

Then  great  darkness  fell  upon  the  soul  of  Hilarius, 
and  he  clasped  the  Prior's  knees,  weeping  and  praying 
like  a  little  cliild. 
i6 


THE    LOVE    OF    PRIOR    STEPHEN 

"  And  so,  my  son,"  said  the  Prior,  "  for  a  time  thou 
shalt  go  out  into  the  world,  to  strive  and  fail,  hunger 
and  love  ;  only  have  a  care  that  thou  art  chaste  in 
heart  and  life  ;  for  it  is  the  pure  shall  see  God,  and  see- 
ing love  Him.  Leave  me  now  that  I  may  set  in  order 
thy  going  ;   and  send  the  Chamberlain  hither  to  me." 

That  night  Hilarius  knelt  through  the  long  hours  at 
the  great  Rood,  and  then  at  St  Mary  Maudlin's  altar  he 
did  penance  for  his  dead  mother's  sin. 

A  week  later  he  left  the  Monastery  as  a  bird  leaves  its 
nest,  nay,  is  pushed  out  by  the  far-seeing  parent  bird, 
full  of  vague  terrors  of  the  great  world  without.  He  had 
a  purse  for  his  immediate  needs  ;  a  letter  to  a  great 
knight,  Sir  John  Maltravers,  who  would  be  his  patron ; 
and  another  to  the  Prior's  good  friend,  the  Abbat  of  St 
Alban's.  The  Convent  bade  him  a  sad  farewell,  for 
they  loved  this  gentle  lad  who  had  been  with  them 
from  a  httle  child ;  and  Brother  Richard  strained 
his  filmy  eyes  to  look  his  last  at  the  young  face  he 
would  never  see  again. 

The  Prior  gave  him  the  Communion ;  and  later 
walked  beside  him  to  the  gates.  Then  as  Hilarius 
knelt  he  blessed  him ;  and  the  boy,  overmastered  by 
nameless  fear,  sprang  up  and  prayed  that  he  might 
stay  and  learn  some  other  way,  however  hard.  The 
Prior  shook  his  head. 

B  17 


THE    SEED 

"  Nay,  my  son,  so  it  must  be  ;  else  how  shall  I  answer 
to  the  Master  for  this  most  precious  lamb  of  my  flock  ? 
Come  back  to  us — an  thou  can'st — let  no  fear  deter 
thee  ;  only  take  heed,  when  thine  eyes  are  opened  and 
the  great  gifts  of  hunger  and  love  are  vouchsafed  thee, 
to  keep  still  the  faithful  heart  of  a  little  child." 

Then  he  bade  him  go  ;  and  Hilarius,  for  the  pull  of 
his  heart-strings,  must  needs  run  hot-foot  down  the 
broad  forest  road  and  along  the  highway,  without 
daring  to  look  back,  and  so  out  into  the  wide,  wide 
world. 


i8 


CHAPTER  III 


THE    KING  S    SONG-BIRD 


Martin  the  Minstrel  sat  under  a  wayside  oak  singing 
softly  to  himself  as  he  tuned  his  vielle.  He  was  a  long, 
lanky  fellow,  with  straight  black  locks  flat  against  his 
sallow  face,  and  dark  eyes  that  smouldered  in  hollow 
cavities.  He  wore  the  King's  colours,  and  broke  a 
manchet  of  white  bread  with  liis  midday  repast. 

"  Heigh-ho !  "  sighed  Martin,  and  laid  the  vielle 
lovingly  beside  liim,  "  another  four  leagues  to  West- 
minster, and  I  weary  enough  of  shoe-leather  already, 
and  not  another  penny  piece  in  my  pocket  'til  I  win 
back  to  good  King  Ned.  A  brave  holiday  I  have  had, 
from  Candlemas  to  ]\Iidsummer ;  free  to  sing  or  to  be 
silent,  to  smile  or  frown ;  wide  England  instead  of 
palace  walls  ;  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  jug  of  cider  instead 
of  a  king's  banquet.  Now  but  another  few  leagues  and 
the  cage  again.  Money  in  my  pocket,  true,  but  a  song 
here  and  a  song  there,  such  as  suit  the  fancy  of  the 
Court  gentles,  not  of  Martin  the  IMinstrel.  Heigh-ho, 
heigh-ho  !  'tis  a  poor  bird  sings  at  the  word  of  a  king, 

19 


THE    SEED 

and    a   poor   enough    song   too,   if   Edward    did    but 
know  it. 

"  Who  comes  here  ?  Faith,  the  lad  goes  a  steady- 
pace  and  carries  a  hght  heart  from  his  song ;  and 
no  ill  voice  either." 

It  was  Hilarius,  and  he  sang  the  Alma  Redemftoris 
as  he  sped  along  the  green  grass  which  bordered  the 
highway. 

When  Martin  hailed  him,  he  turned  aside  gladly 
and  his  face  lit  up  at  the  sight  of  the  vieUe. 

"  Whence  dost  thou  come,  lad  ?  "  said  Martin,  eyeing 
him  with  interest. 

"  Many  days'  journey  from  the  Monastery  of  Prior 
Stephen,"  answered  Hilarius. 
"  But  thou  art  no  monk  ?  " 

"  Nay,  a  novice  scarcely  ;  but  the  Prior  hath  bidden 
me  go  forth  to  see  the  world.  It  is  wondrous  fair," 
he  added  sincerely. 

"  He  who  speaks  thus  is  cloister-bred,"  said  Martin, 
and,  as  Hilarius  made  sign  of  assent,  "  'tis  writ  on  thy 
face  as  well.  Thy  Prior  gave  thee  letters  to  the  Abbat 
of  St  Peter's,  I  doubt  not ;  thy  face  is  set  for 
Westminster." 

"  Ay,  for  Westminster,  but  my  letters  are  for  that 
good  knight.  Sir  John  Maltravers.  I  should  have 
made  an  end  of  my  journeying  ere  now  but  that  two 

20 


THE    KING'S    SONG-BIRD 

days  ago  I  met  strange  company.  They  took  my  purse 
and  hat  and  shoes,  and  kept  me  with  them  all  night 
until  the  late  dawn.  Then  they  gave  me  my  goods 
again,  and  bade  me  God-speed." 

"  But  kept  thy  purse  ?  "  Martin  laughed. 

"  Nay,  it  is  here,  and  naught  is  missing.  It  was  all 
passing  strange,  and  I  feared  them,  for  they  looked  evil 
men  ;  yet  they  did  me  no  wrong,  and  set  me  on  my  way 
gently  enough,  giving  me  provision,  which  I  lacked." 

"  Pick-purses  and  cut-throats  afraid  of  God's  judg- 
ments for  once,"  muttered  Martin ;  then  aloud,  "  Well, 
young  sir,  we  shall  do  well  if  we  win  Westminster  before 
nightfall ;  shall  we  journey  together  since  our  way  is 
the  same  ?  " 

HOarius  assented  gladly ;  and  as  they  went  Martin 
told  him  of  Court  and  King,  and  the  wondrous  doings 
when  the  Princess  Isabel  was  wed.  He  listened  open- 
eyed  to  tales  of  joust  and  revel  and  sport ;  and  heard 
eagerly  all  the  minstrel  coald  tell  of  Sir  John  Maltravers 
himself,  a  man  of  great  and  good  reputation,  and  no 
mean  musician ;  "  and,"  added  Martin,  "  three  fair 
daughters  he  hath,  the  eldest  Eleanor,  fairest  of  them 
all,  of  whom  men  say  she  would  fain  be  a  nun.  Thou 
art  a  pretty  lad,  I  wager  one  or  other  will  claim  thee 
for  page." 

"  I  will  strive  to  serve  well,"  said  Hilarius  soberly, 

21 


THE    SEED 

"  but  I  have  never  spoken  but  to  one  maid  'til  yester- 
day, when  a  woman  gave  me  good-morrow." 

Martin  looked  at  his  companion  queerly. 

"  And  thou  art  for  Westminster  !  Nay,  but  by  all 
the  Saints  this  Prior  of  thine  is  a  strange  master  !  " 

"  It  is  but  for  a  time,"  said  Hilarius,  "  then  I  shall  go 
back  to  the  Monastery  again.  But  first  I  would  learn 
to  be  a  real  limner  ;  I  have  some  small  skill  with  the 
brush,"  he  added  simply. 

Martin  stared. 

"  Back  to  the  cloister  ?  Nay,  lad,  best  turn  about 
and  get  back  now,  not  wait  till  thou  hast  had  a  taste 
of  Court  life.  Joust  and  banquet  and  revel,  revel, 
banquet,  and  joust,  much  merry-making  and  little 
reason,  much  love  and  few  marryings  :  a  gay  round, 
but  not  such  as  makes  a  monk." 

Hilarius  smiled. 

"  Nay,  that  life  will  not  be  for  me.  I  am  to  serve 
my  lord,  write  for  him,  methinks.  But  tell  me,  good 
Martin,  dost  thou  love  the  Court  ?  It  seems  a  fine  thing 
to  be  the  King's  Minstrel." 

"  Nay,  lad,  nay,"  said  the  other  hastily,  "  give  me 
the  open  country  and  the  greenwood,  and  leave  to  sing 
or  be  silent.  Still,  the  King  is  a  good  master,  and  lets 
me  roam  as  I  list  if  I  will  but  come  back  ;  'tis  ill-faring 
in  winter,  so  back  I  go  to  pipe  in  my  cage  and  follow 

22 


THE    KING'S    SONG-BIRD 

the  Court  until  next  Lady-day  lets  the  sun  in  on  us 
again." 

He  struck  his  vielle  Ughtly,  and  the  two  fell  into  a 
slower  pace  as  the  minstrel  sang.  Hilarius'  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  for  he  was  still  heart-sore,  and  Martin's 
voice  rose  and  fell  like  the  wind  in  the  tossing  tree-tops 
which  had  beckoned  him  over  the  Monastery  wall.  The 
song  itself  was  sad — of  a  lover  torn  from  his  mistress 
and  borne  away  captive  to  alien  service.  When  it  was 
ended  they  took  a  brisker  pace  in  silence  ;  then,  after  a 
while,  Hilarius  said  timidly  : — 

"  Did'st  thou  sing  of  thyself,  good  Martin  ?  " 

"  Ay,  lad,  and  of  my  mistress."  He  stopped  suddenly, 
louted  low  to  the  sky,  and  with  comprehensive  gesture 
took  in  the  countryside.  "  A  fair  mistress,  lad,  and  a 
faithful  one,  though  of  many  moods.  A  man  suns 
himself  in  the  warmth  of  her  caresses  by  day,  and  at 
night  she  is  cold,  chaste,  unattainable  ;  at  one  time  she 
is  all  smiles  and  tears,  then  with  boisterous  gesture  she 
bids  one  seek  shelter  from  her  buffets.  She  gives  all  and 
yet  nothing  ;  she  trails  the  very  traces  of  her  hair  across 
a  man's  face  only  to  elude  liim.  She  holds  him  fast, 
for  she  is  mother  of  all  his  children  ;  yet  he  must  seek 
as  though  he  knew  her  not,  or  she  flouts  him." 

Hilarius  listened  eagerly.  Was  this  what  the  dancer 
had  meant — the  "  wide,  wide  world,  hunger  and  love  "  ? 

23 


THE    SEED 

"  Did'st  thou  ever  hunger,  good  Martin  ?  " 

"  Ay,  lad,"  said  the  minstrel,  surprised,  "  and  'tis 
good  sauce  for  the  next  meal." 

"  Did'st  thou  ever  love  ?  " 

Martin  broke  into  a  great  laugh. 

"  Avj  marry  I  have,  more  times  than  I  count  years. 
But  see,  here  comes  one  who  knows  little  enough  of 
hunger  or  love." 

Round  the  bend  of  the  road  came  a  man  in  hermit's 
dress  carrying  a  staff  and  a  well-filled  wallet.  His 
carriage  seemed  suddenly  to  become  less  upright,  and 
he  leaned  heavily  on  his  stick  as  he  besought  an  alms 
from  the  two  travellers. 

Hilarius  felt  for  his  purse,  but  Martin  stayed 
him. 

"  Nay  lad,  better  have  left  thy  money  with  the  pick- 
purses  than  help  to  fill  the  skin  of  this  lazy  rogue  ;  'tis 
not  the  first  time  we  have  met.  See  here,"  and  with  a 
dexterous  jerk  he  caught  the  hermit's  wallet. 

This  one  was  too  quick  for  him  ;  with  uplifted  staff 
and  a  mouthful  of  oaths,  sorely  at  variance  with  his 
habit,  he  snatched  it  back,  flung  the  bag  across  his 
shoulder,  and  made  off  at  a  round  pace  down  the  road, 
while  Martin  roared  after  him  to  wait  an  alms  laid  on 
with  a  cudgel. 

Hilarius  gazed  horrified  from  the  retreating  figure 
24 


THE    KING'S    SONG-BIRD 

to  his  laughing  companion,  who  answered  the  unspoken 
question. 

"  A  rascal,  lad,  yon  carrion,  and  no  holy  father.  They 
are  the  pest  of  every  countryside,  these  lazy  rogues 
who  never  do  a  hand's  turn  and  yet  live  better  than 
many  a  squire.  I  warrant  he  has  good  stuff  in  that 
larder  of  his  to  make  merry  with." 

Hilarius  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence  with  bent 
head. 

"  I  fear  the  world  is  an  ill  place  and  far  from  godli- 
ness," he  said  at  last. 

"  It  will  look  thus  to  one  cloister-bred,  and  'tis  true 
enough  that  godliness  is  far  from  most  men ;  but  if  a 
hermit's  robe  may  cover  a  rascal,  often  enough  a  good 
heart  hes  under  an  ill-favoured  face  and  tongue.  See, 
lad,"  as  another  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  in  sight 
of  Westminster,  "  there  lies  thy  new  world,  God  keep 
thee  in  it !  " 

He  pointed  to  a  grey-walled  city  rising  from  the 
water's  edge,  with  roof  and  pinnacle,  gable  and  turret, 
aflame  in  the  light  of  the  western  sky  ;  in  front  flowed 
the  river  like  a  stream  of  molten  gold. 

Hilarius  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  'Tis  like  the  New  Jerusalem  !  "  he  said,  and  Martin 
smiled  grimly. 

An  hour  later  they  stood  within  the  walls  of  West- 

25 


THE    SEED 

minster  city,  and  Hilarius,  amazed  and  weary,  clung 
close  to  Martin's  side.  Around  him  he  saw  russet-clad 
archers,  grooms,  men  on  horseback,  pedlars,  pages, 
falconers,  scullions  with  meats,  gallant  knights,  gaily 
dressed  ladies  ;  it  was  like  a  tangled  dream.  The  gabled 
fronts  of  the  houses  were  richly  blazoned  or  hung  with 
scarlet  cloth  ;  it  was  a  shifting  scene  of  colour,  life, 
and  movement,  and,  to  Hilarius'  untutored  eyes,  wild 
confusion.  Outside  the  taverns  clustered  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men,  drinking,  gossiping,  singing,  for  the 
day's  work  was  done.  In  the  courtyard  of  the  "  Black 
Boar  "  a  chained  bear  padded  restlessly  to  and  fro, 
and  Hilarius  crossed  himself  anxiously — was  the  devil 
about  to  beset  him  under  all  guises  at  once  ?  He  raised 
a  fervent  Or  a  pro  me  to  St  Benedict  as  he  hurried  past. 
A  string  of  pack-horses  in  the  narrow  street  sent  folk 
flying  for  refuge  to  the  low  dark  doorways,  and  a  buxom 
wench,  seeing  the  pretty  lad,  bussed  him  soundly.  This 
was  too  much,  only  the  man  in  him  stayed  the  indignant 
tears.  "  Martin,  Martin  !  "  he  cried  ;  but  the  minstrel 
was  on  his  own  ground  now,  and  was  hailed  everywhere 
with  acclamations,  and  news  given  and  demanded  in  a 
breath.  Hilarius,  shrinking,  aghast,  liis  ears  scourged 
with  rough  oaths  and  rude  jests,  his  eyes  offended  by  the 
easy  manners  round  him,  his  cheek  hot  from  the  late 
salute,  took  refuge  under  a  low  archway  and  waited 
26 


THE    KING'S    SONG-BIRD 

with  anxious  heart  until  the  minstrel  should  have  done 
with  the  crowd. 

Martin  did  not  forget  him. 

"  Hola,  lad  !  "  he  cried,  "  see  how  they  welcome  the 
King's  bird  back  to  his  cage  !  As  for  thee,  thou  hast 
gone  straight  to  thy  cot  like  a  homing  pigeon  ; 
through  that  archway,  lad,  lies  thy  journey's  end." 
Then,  apprehending  for  the  first  time  Hilarius'  white 
face  and  piteous  eyes,  Martin  strode  across,  swept  him 
under  the  archway  into  a  quiet  coiu'tyard  where  a 
fountain  rippled,  and,  having  handed  him  over  to  Sir 
John's  steward,  left  him  with  a  friendly  slap  on  the 
back  and  the  promise  of  speedy  meeting. 

Hilarius  dehvered  the  Prior's  letter,  and  followed 
the  steward  into  a  rush-strewn  hall  where  scullions  and 
serving-men  were  busy  with  preparations  for  the  evening 
meal ;  and  sat  there,  lonely  and  dejected,  his  curiosity 
quenched,  his  heart  sore,  his  whole  being  crying  out  for 
the  busied  peace  and  silent  orderhness  of  his  cloister 
home.  The  servants  gibed  at  him,  but  he  was  too 
weary  to  heed  ;  indeed  he  hardly  noticed  when  the 
household  swept  into  supper,  until  a  page-boy  tweaked 
liim  slyly  by  the  ear  and  bade  him  come  to  table.  He 
ate  and  drank  thankfully,  too  dazed  to  take  note  of  the 
meal ;  and  the  pages  and  squires  among  whom  he  sat 
left  him  alone,   abashed   at  his   gentleness.     At  last, 

27 


THE    SEED 

something  restored  by  the  much-needed  food,  Hilarius 
looked  round  the  hall. 

It  reminded  liim  of  the  Refectory  at  home,  save  that 
it  was  far  loftier  and  heavily  timbered.  The  twilight 
stealing  in  through  liigh  lancet  windows  served  but  to 
emphasize  the  upper  gloom,  which  the  morrow's  sun 
would  dissipate  into  cunningly  carved  woodwork — a 
man's  thought  in  every  quaintly  wrought  boss  and  panel, 
grotesque  beast  and  guarding  saint.  A  raised  table 
stood  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  and  here  gaily  dressed 
pages  waited  on  the  master  of  the  house  and  his  honoured 
guests.  Hilarius  rightly  guessed  the  tall  careworn  man 
of  distinguished  presence  to  be  no  other  than  Sir  John 
liimself,  and  he  liked  him  well ;  but  liis  eyes  wandered 
carelessly  over  the  rest  of  the  company  until  they  were 
caught  and  held  by  a  woman's  face.  It  was  Eleanor, 
the  fairest  of  the  knight's  tlu'ee  fair  daughters  ;  and 
when  Hilarius  saw  her  he  felt  as  a  weary  traveller  feels 
who  meets  a  fellow  citizen  in  a  far-off  land. 

"  Even  such  a  face  must  the  Blessed  Agnes  have  had," 
he  thought,  his  mind  reverting  to  his  favourite  Saint ; 
"  she  is  hke  the  lilies  in  the  garth  at  home." 

It  was  a  strange  comparison,  for  the  girl  was  extrava- 
gantly dressed  in  costly  materials  and  brilliant  colours, 
her  hair  coifed  in  the  foolish  French  fashion  of  the  day  ; 
and  yet,  despite  it  all,  she  looked  a  mm.  Her  face  was 
28 


THE    KING'S    SONG-BIRD 

pale,  her  brows  set  straight ;  her  eyes,  save  when  she 
was  much  moved,  were  hke  grey  shadows  veiUng  an 
unknown  soul ;  her  mouth,  dehcately  curved,  was 
scarcely  reddened ;  her  head  drooped  sHghtly  on  her 
long,  slender  neck,  a  gesture  instinct  with  gracious 
humility.  She  was  Uke  a  pictured  saint :  Hilarius'  gaze 
clung  to  her,  followed  her  as  she  left  the  hall,  and  saw 
her  still  as  he  sat  apart  while  the  serving  men  cleared 
the  lower  tables  and  brought  in  the  sleeping  gear  for 
the  night.  He  lay  down  with  the  rest,  and  through 
the  high  lancet  windows  the  moonlight  kissed  his 
white  and  weary  face  as  it  was  wont  to  do  on  bright 
nights  in  the  cloister  dormitory.  Around  him  men 
lay  sleeping  soundly  after  the  day's  toil ;  there  was 
none  to  heed,  and  he  sobbed  like  a  httle  homesick 
child,  until  his  tired  youth  triumphed  and  he  fell 
asleep,  to  dream  of  Martin  and  the  Prior,  the  lady 
at  the  raised  table,  and  the  pale,  sweet  liHes  in  the 
cloister  garth. 


29 


PART  II 
THE   FLOWER 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   CITY  OF  PURE   GOLD 

"  Blind  eyes,  blind  eyes  !  "  sang  the  dancer, 

Hilarius  woke  with  a  start.  He  had  fallen  asleep  on 
a  bench  in  the  sunny  courtyard  and  his  dream  had 
carried  him  back  to  the  forest.  He  sat  rubbing  his  eyes 
and  only  half-awake,  the  sun  kissing  his  hair  into  a 
halo  against  the  old  grey  wall.  A  falcon  near  fretted 
restlessly  on  her  perch,  and  a  hound  asleep  by  the 
fountain  rose,  and,  slowly  stretching  its  great  limbs, 
came  towards  him. 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  a  warm  day  in  September ; 
the  courtyard  was  deserted  save  for  a  few  busied 
serving-men,  and  the  knight  and  his  household  were 
at  a  tilting  in  the  Outer  Bailey,  all  but  the  Lady 
Eleanor,  Hilarius'  mistress,  for,  as  Martin  had  fore- 
seen, Sir  John  had  so  appointed  it. 

It  was  now  two  months  since  Hilarius  had  come  to 
the  city  which  had  seemed  to  him  in  the  distance  as  the 
New  Jerusalem  full  of  promise  ;  but  he  had  found  no 
angels  at  the  gates,  nor  were  the  streets  full   of   the 

c  33 


THE    FLOWER 

righteous  ;  nay,  the  place  seemed  nearer  of  kin  to  the 
Babylon  of  Blessed  John's  Vision — with  a  few  holy 
ones  who  would  surely  be  caught  up  ere  judgment  fell, 
amongst  them  Sir  John  and  Lady  Eleanor. 

A  good  knight  and  a  God-fearing  man  was  Sir  John, 
tender  to  liis  children,  gentle  with  his  people,  a  faithful 
servant  to  God  and  King  Edward  ;  shrewd  withal,  and 
an  apt  reader  of  men.  Therefore,  and  because  of  the 
love  he  bore  to  Prior  Stephen,  he  set  Hilarius  to  attend 
his  eldest  daughter,  who  seemed  to  belong  as  little  to 
this  world  as  the  lad  himself  ;  and  felt  that  in  so  doing 
he  had  achieved  the  best  possible  for  his  old  friend, 
according  to  his  asking. 

Hilarius  for  his  part  served  the  Lady  Eleanor  as  an 
acolyte  tends  the  chapel  of  a  saint,  only  she  was  further 
removed  from  him  than  a  saint,  by  reason  of  her  pale 
humanity.  He  soon  perceived,  as  he  watched  her  at 
banquet,  tourney,  or  pageant,  that  she  went  to  a  revel 
as  to  the  Sacrament,  and  sat  at  a  mummers'  show  with 
eyes  fixed  on  the  Unseen.  She  moved  through  the  gay 
vivid  world  of  Corut  gallants  and  joyous  maidens  Hke  a 
shadow,  and  the  rout  grew  graver  at  her  coming. 

It  was  much  the  same  with  her  lover,  Guy  de  Steyning 
— brother  of  that  Hugh  de  Steyning  men  wot  of  as 
Brother  Ambrosius — a  gentle  knight  with  mild  blue 
eyes,  a  peaked  red  beard,  and  great  fervour  for  heavenly 

34 


THE    CITY    OF    PURE    GOLD 

things.  The  pair  hked  one  another  well ;  but  their  time 
was  taken  up  with  preparation  for  Paradise  rather  than 
with  earthly  business,  and  their  speech  lent  itself  more 
readily  to  devout  phrases  than  to  lovers'  vows.  It  was 
small  wonder,  therefore,  that  another  year  saw  them 
both  by  glad  consent  in  the  cloister,  he  at  Oxford,  and 
Eleanor  in  the  Benedictine  House  of  wliich  her  aunt 
was  Prioress. 

Hilarius  had  written  of  his  saintly  mistress  to  Prior 
Stephen  just  as  he  had  written  of  the  wondrous  beauty 
of  St  Peter's  Abbey  :  "  With  all  its  straight,  slender, 
upstanding  pillars,  methinks  'tis  hke  the  forest  at  home," 
(forgetting  that  his  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
forest  partook  of  the  nature  of  sin).  "  The  Lady 
Eleanor,  my  honoured  mistress,"  he  wrote,  "  is  a  most 
saintly  and  devout  maiden,  full  of  heavenly  lore  and 
caring  naught  for  the  things  of  this  world  "  ;  and  he 
added,  "  'tis  beautiful  to  see  such  devotion  where  for 
the  most  part  are  sinful  and  hght-minded  persons." 

The  Prior  laid  the  script  aside  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh  ; 
and  when  Brother  Bernard  asked  news  of  the  lad 
answered  a  httle  sadly,  "  Nay,  Brother,  he  still  sleeps  "  ; 
and  indeed  there  seemed  no  waking  him  to  a  world  of 
men — ^living,  striving,  sorely-tried  men. 

He  dwelt  in  a  land  of  his  own  making — a  land  of 
colour  and  light  and  shadow  in  wliich  much  that  he 

35 


THE    FLOWER 

saw  played  a  part ;  only  the  gorgeous  pageants  turned 
to  hosts  of  triumphant  saints  heralded  by  angels  ;  while 
the  knights  at  a  tourney  in  their  brave  armour  pictured 
St  George,  St  Michael,  or  St  Martin  in  his  dreams. 

It  was  a  limner  he  longed  to  be,  far  away  from  the 
stir  and  stress,  not  a  page  attending  a  great  lady  to  the 
Court  functions.  He  yearned  ever  after  the  Scrip- 
torium, with  its  busied  monks  and  stores  of  colour 
and  gold.  It  lay  but  a  stone's  throw  away  behind 
the  jealous  Monastery  walls,  but  it  was  no  part  of 
Prior  Stephen's  plan  that  the  lad  should  go  straight 
from  one  cloister  to  another. 

To  Hilarius,  sitting  on  the  bench  in  the  sun,  came  one 
of  Eleanor's  tirewomen  to  bid  him  wait  on  her  mistress. 
He  rose  at  once  and  followed  her  through  the  hall  and  up 
the  winding  stair,  along  a  gallery  hung  with  wondrous 
story-teUing  tapestry,  to  the  bower  where  Eleanor  sat 
with  two  of  her  women  busied  with  their  needle. 

Hilarius  found  his  mistress,  her  hands  idle  on  her  knee. 
He  louted  low,  and  she  bade  liim  bring  a  stool  and  sit 
beside  her. 

"  I  am  weary,"  she  said ;  "  this  life  is  weariness. 
Tell  me  of  the  Monastery  and  the  forest — stay,  tell  me 
rather  of  the  New  Jerusalem  that  Brother  Ambrose 
saw  and  limned." 

Hilarius,  nothing  loth,  settled  himself  at  her  feet, 

36 


'  Hilarius  found  his  mistress,  her  hands 
idle  on  lier  knee  ' 


THE    CITY    OF    PURE    GOLD 

elbow  on  knee  and  chin  on  his  open  hands,  his  dreamy 
blue  eyes  gazing  away  out  of  the  window  at  the  cloud- 
flecked  sky  above  the  Abbey  pinnacles. 

"  The  Brother  Ambrose,"  he  began,  "  was  ever  a 
saintly  man,  approved  of  God  and  beloved  by  the 
Brethren ;  ay,  and  a  crafty  hmner,  save  that  of  late  his 
eyesight  failed  him.  To  him  one  night,  as  he  lay  a-bed 
in  the  dormitory,  came  the  word  of  the  Lord,  saying : 
'  Come,  and  I  will  show  thee  the  Bride,  the  Lamb's  wife.' 
And  Brother  Ambrose  arose  and  was  carried  to  a  great 
and  high  mountain,  even  as  in  the  Vision  of  Blessed  John. 
'Twas  a  still  night  of  many  stars,  and  Brother  Ambrose, 
looking  up,  saw  a  radiant  path  in  the  heavens  ;  and  lo  ! 
the  stars  gathered  themselves  together  on  either  side 
until  they  stood  as  walls  of  hght,  and  the  four  winds 
lapped  him  about  as  in  a  mantle  and  bore  him  towards 
the  wondrous  gleaming  roadway.  Then  between  the 
stars  came  the  Holy  City  with  roof  and  pinnacle  aflame, 
and  walls  aglow  with  such  colours  as  no  eartlily  limner 
dreams  of,  and  much  gold.  Brother  Ambrose  beheld 
the  Gates  of  Pearl,  and  by  every  gate  an  angel,  with 
%vings  of  snow  and  fire,  and  a  face  no  man  dare  look  on, 
because  of  its  exceeding  radiance. 

"Then,  as  Brother  Ambrose  stretched  out  his  arms 
because  of  his  great  longing,  a  little  grey  cloud  came  out 
of  the  north  and  hung  between  the  walls  of  hght,  so  that 


THE    FLOWER 

he  no  longer  beheld  the  Vision,  but  heard  only  a  sound 
as  of  a  great  multitude  crying  '  Alleluia  ' ;  and  suddenly 
the  winds  came  about  him  again,  and  lo  !  he  found 
himself  in  bed  in  the  dormitory,  and  it  was  midnight, 
for  the  bell  was  ringing  to  Matins ;  and  he  rose  and 
went  down  with  the  rest ;  but  when  the  Brethren  left 
the  choir,  Brother  Ambrose  stayed  fast  in  liis  place, 
hearing  and  seeing  nothing  because  of  the  Vision  of 
God ;  and  at  Lauds  they  found  him  and  told  the 
Prior. 

"  He  questioned  Brother  Ambrose  of  the  matter, 
and  when  he  heard  the  Vision,  bade  liim  limn  the  Holy 
City  even  as  he  had  seen  it ;  and  the  Precentor  gave 
him  uterine  vellum  and  much  fine  gold  and  what 
colours  he  asked  for  the  work.  Then  Brother  Ambrose 
limned  a  wondrous  fair  city  of  gold  mth  turrets  and 
spires  ;  and  he  inlaid  blue  for  the  sapphire,  and  green 
for  the  emerald,  and  vermilion  where  the  city  seemed 
aflame  with  the  glory  of  God  ;  but  the  angels  he  could 
not  hmn,  nor  could  he  set  the  rest  of  the  colours  as  he 
saw  them,  nor  the  wall  of  stars  on  either  hand ;  and 
Brother  Ambrose  fell  sick  because  of  the  exceeding 
great  longing  he  had  to  hmn  the  Holy  City,  and  was 
very  sad ;  but  our  Prior  bade  him  thanlc  God  and 
remember  the  infirmity  of  the  flesh,  wliich,  hke  the 
little  grey  cloud,  veiled  Jerusalem  to  his  sight." 

38 


THE    CITY    OF    PURE    GOLD 

There  was  silence.  Lady  Eleanor  clasped  her  shadowy 
blue-veined  hands  under  her  chin,  and  in  her  eyes  too 
was  a  great  longing. 

"  It  seemeth  to  me  small  wonder  that  Brother 
Ambrose  fell  sick,"  she  said,  at  length. 

Hilarius  nodded  : 

"  He  had  ever  a  patient,  wistful  look  as  of  one  from 
home ;  and  often  he  would  sit  musing  in  the  cloister 
and  scarce  give  heed  to  the  Office  bell." 

"  Methinks,  Hilarius,  it  will  be  passing  sweet  to  dwell 
in  that  Holy  City." 

"  Nay,  lady,"  said  her  page  tenderly,  "  surely  thou 
hast  had  a  vision  even  as  Brother  Ambrose,  for  tliine 
eyes  wait  always,  hke  unto  his." 

Eleanor  shook  her  head,  and  two  tears  crept  slowly 
from  the  shadow  of  her  eyes. 

"  Nay,  not  to  such  as  I  am  is  the  vision  vouchsafed ; 
though  my  desire  is  great,  'tis  ever  clogged  by  sin  ; 
and  for  this  same  reason  I  would  get  me  to  a  cloister 
where  I  might  fast  and  pray  unhindered." 

Hilarius  looked  at  her  with  great  compassion. 

"  Sweet  lady,  the  Lord  fulfil  all  thy  desires  ;  yet, 
methinks,  thou  art  already  as  one  of  His  saints." 

"  Nay,  but  a  poor  sinner  in  an  evil  world,"  she 
answered.     "  Sing  to  me,  Hilarius." 

And  he  sang  her  the  Salve  Regina,  and  when  it  was 

39 


THE    FLOWER 

ended  she  bade  him  go,  for  she  would  fain  spend  some 
time  in  prayer  upon  her  primer. 

"  Our  Lady  and  all  Saints  be  with  thee,  sweet 
mistress  !  "  he  said,  and  left  her  to  sob  out  once  more 
the  sins  and  sorrows  of  her  tender  childhke  heart. 


40 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    CITY    THAT    HILARIUS    SAW 

HiLARius  went  back  to  the  courtyard,  his  soiil  full  of 
trouble.  He  leant  against  the  fountain,  playing  with 
the  cool  water  which  fell  with  monotonous  rhythm  into 
the  shallow  time-worn  basin.  The  cloudless  sky  smiled 
back  at  him  from  the  broken  mirror  into  which  he 
gazed,  and  the  glory  of  its  untroubled  blue  thrilled  him 
strangely.  He  too  had  a  vision  which  he  longed  to 
limn  ;  but  it  was  of  earth,  not  Heaven  hke  that  vouch- 
safed to  Brother  Ambrose ;  and  yet  none  the  less 
precious,  for  was  it  not  the  Monastery  at  home  which 
so  haunted  liim,  the  grey  famihar  walls  with  their 
girdle  of  sunlit  pasture,  and  the  manthng  forest  which 
bowed  and  swayed  at  the  will  of  the  whispering  wind  ? 
"  As  well  seek  Heaven's  gate  in  yon  fair  reflection 
as  learn  to  love  in  this  light-minded,  deceitful  city," 
Hilarius  said  to  himself  a  httle  bitterly.  He  deemed 
that  he  had  plumbed  its  hollowness  and  learnt  the  full 
measure  of  its  vanity.  Already  he  shunned  the  company 
and  diversions  of  his  fellow  pages,  though  he  was  ever 

41 


THE    FLOWER 

ready  to  serve  them.  A  prentice  lad's  homely  brawl 
set  him  shivering ;  a  woman's  jest  painted  his  cheeks 
'til  they  rivalled  a  young  maid's  at  her  first  wooing.  He 
plucked  aside  liis  skirts  and  walked  in  judgment ;  only 
wherever  mountebank  or  juggler  held  the  crowd  en- 
thralled, there  Hilarius,  half-ashamed,  would  push  his 
way,  in  the  unacknowledged  hope  of  seeing  again  the 
maid  whose  mother.,  hke  his  own,  was  hght  o'  love  :  a 
strange  hnk  truly  to  bind  Hilarius  in  his  bhndness  to 
the  rest  of  poor  sinful  humanity. 

Suddenly  there  broke  on  his  musing  the  clatter  of 
horse-hoofs,  and  a  gay  young  page  came  spurring  with 
bent  head  under  the  low  archway.  He  reined  up  by 
Hilarius  : 

"  Dear  lad,  kind  lad,  wdlt  thou  do  me  a  service  ?  " 
"  That  will  I,  Hal,  an  it  be  in  my  power." 
"  Take  this  purse,  then,  to  the  Cock  Tavern  and  give 
it  mine  host.  'Tis  Luke  Langland's  reckoning  ;  he  left 
it  with  me  yesternight,  but  my  head  was  full  of  feast 
and  tourney,  and  'tis  yet  undehvered.  Mine  host  will 
not  let  the  serving  men  and  the  two  horses  go  'til  he 
hath  seen  Luke's  money,  and  I  cannot  stay,  for  my 
lord  will  need  me." 

Hilarius  took  the  purse  ;  and  his  fellow  page,  blessing 
liim  for  a  good  comrade,  clattered  back  through  the 
gateway. 
42 


THE   CITY   THAT   HILARIUS    SAW 

The  streets  were  full  of  life  and  colour ;  serving-men 
in  the  livery  of  Abbat  and  Knight,  King  and  Cardinal, 
lounged  at  the  tavern  doors  dicing,  gaming,  and  drinldng. 
Hilarius  walked  delicately  and  strove  to  shut  eyes  and 
ears  to  the  sights  and  sounds  of  sin.  He  dehvered  the 
purse,  only  to  hear  mine  host  curse  roundly  because  it 
was  lighter  than  the  reckoning  ;  and  after  being  hustled 
and  jeered  at  for  a  milk-faced  varlet  by  the  men  who 
stood  drinking,  he  sought  with  scarlet  cheeks  for  a  less 
frequented  way. 

The  quiet  of  a  narrow  street  invited  him  ;  he  turned 
aside,  and  suddenly  traffic  and  turmoil  died  away.  He 
was  in  a  city  within  a  city  ;  a  place  of  mean  tenements, 
wretched  hovels,  ruined  houses,  and,  keeping  guard 
over  them  aU,  a  grim  square  tower,  bhnd  save  for  two 
windowed  eyes.  Men,  ill-favoured,  hang-dog,  or  care- 
worn, stood  about  the  house  doors  silent  and  moody  ;  a 
white-faced  woman  crossing  the  street  with  a  bucket 
gave  no  greeting ;  the  very  children  rolhng  in  the  foul 
gutters  neither  laughed  nor  chattered  nor  played.  The 
city  without  seemed  very  far  from  this  dismal,  sordid 
place. 

Hilarius  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  kindly 
voice  said  : — 

"  How  now,  young  sir,  for  what  crime  dost  thou  take 
sanctuary  ?  " 

43 


THE    FLOWER 

He  looked  up  and  saw  an  old  man  in  the  black  dress 
of  an  ecclesiastic,  the  keys  of  St  Peter  broidered  on 
his  arm. 

"  Sanctuary,"  stammered  Hilarius,  "  nay,  good  sir, 
I " 

The  other  laughed. 

"  Wert  thou  star-gazing,  then,  that  thou  could'st 
stray  into  these  precincts  and  know  it  not  ?  This  is  the 
City  of  Refuge,  to  which  a  man  may  flee  when  he  has 
robbed  or  murdered  his  fellow,  or  been  guilty  of  treason, 
seditious  talk,  or  slander — a  strange  place  in  which  to 
see  such  a  face  as  thine." 

"  I  did  but  seek  a  quiet  way  home  and  lost  the  turn- 
ing," said  Hilarius  ;  "  in  sooth,  'tis  a  fearful  place." 

"  Ay,  boy,  'tis  a  place  of  darkness  and  despair,  despite 
its  safety — even  the  King's  arm  falls  short  when  a  man 
is  in  these  precincts  :  but  from  himself  and  the  know- 
ledge of  his  crime,  a  man  cannot  flee ;  hence,  I  say, 'tis 
a  place  of  darkness  and  despair." 

The  unspoken  question  shone  in  Hilarius'  eyes,  and 
the  other  answered  it. 

"  Nay,  there  is  no  blood  on  my  soul,  young  sir.  'Twas 
good  advice  I  gave,  well  meant  but  ill  received,  so  here 
I  dwell  to  learn  the  wisdom  of  fools  and  the  foolishness 
of  wisdom." 

"  Does    the     Abbat    know    what    evil    men    these 

44 


THE   CITY    THAT   HILARIUS    SAW 

are  that  seek  the  shelter  of  Holy  Church  ?  "  asked 
Hilarius,  perplexed. 

"  Most  surely  he  knows  ;  but  what  would'st  thou 
have  ?  It  hath  ever  been  the  part  of  the  Church  to 
embrace  sinners  with  open  arms  lest  they  repent.  A 
man  leaves  wrath  behind  liim  when  he  flees  liither ; 
but  should  he  set  foot  in  the  city  without,  he  is  the 
law's  and  no  man  may  gainsay  it." 

"  Nay,  sir,  but  these  look  far  from  repentance,"  said 
Hilarius. 

"  Ay,  ay,  true  eno',"  rejoined  the  other  cheerfully, 
"  but  then  'tis  not  for  nothing  Mother  Church  holds  the 
keys.  Man's  law  may  fail  to  reach,  but  there  is  ever 
hell-fire  for  the  unrepented  sinner." 

Hilarius  nodded,  and  his  eyes  wandered  over  the 
squalid  place  with  the  North  Porch  of  the  Abbey  for  its 
sole  beauty. 

"  It  must  be  as  hell  here,  to  live  with  robbers  and  men 
with  bloody  hands." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  man  hastily,  "  many  of  them 
are  kindly  folk,  and  many  have  slain  in  anger  without 
thought.  'Tis  a  sad  place,  though,  and  thy  young  face 
is  like  a  sunbeam  on  a  winter's  day.  Come,  I  will  show 
thee  thy  road." 

He  led  Hilarius  through  the  winding  alleys,  and  set 
him  once  more  on  the  edge  of  the  city's  stir  and  hum. 

45 


THE    FLOWER 

"  I  can  no  further,"  he  said,  "  Farewell,  young  sir, 
and  God  keep  thee !  An  old  man's  blessing  ne'er 
harmed  any  one." 

Hilarius  gave  him  godden,  and  sped  swiftly  back 
through  the  streets  crowded  with  folks  returning  from 
the  tourney.  The  Abbey  bell  rang  out  above  the  shouts 
and  din. 

"  'Tis  an  evil,  evil  world,"  quoth  young  Hilarius. 


46 


CHAPTER  III 

A    SENDING    FROM   THE    LORD 

October  and  November  came  and  sped,  and  Hilarius' 
longing  to  be  a  limner  waxed  with  the  waning  year.  One 
day  by  the  waterside  he  met  Martin,  of  whom  he  saw 
now  much,  now  Httle,  for  the  JVIinstrel  followed  the 
Court. 

"The  cage  grows  too  small  for  me,  lad,"  he  said,  as 
he  stood  with  Hilarius  watching  the  sun  sink  below  the 
Surrey  uplands  ;  "  ay,  and  I  love  one  woman,  which  is 
ill  for  a  man  of  my  trade.  I  must  be  away  to  my 
mistress,  winter  or  no  winter,  else  my  song  will  die  and 
my  heart  break." 

"  'Tis  even  so  with  me,  good  Martin,"  said  Hilarius 
sadly ;  "I  too  would  fain  go  forth  and  serve  my 
mistress ;  but  the  cage  door  is  barred,  and  I  may  not 
open  it  from  within." 

Martin  whistled,  and  smote  the  lad  friendly  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Patience,  lad,  patience,  thou  art  young  yet.  Eight- 
teen  this  Martinmas,  say  you  ?     In  truth  'tis  a  great 

47 


THE    FLOWER 

age,  but  still  leaves  time  and  to  spare.  '  All  things 
come  to  a  waiting  man,''  saith  the  proverb." 

A  week  later  he  chanced  on  Hilarius  sitting  on  a  bench 
under  the  south  wall  of  the  farmery  cloister.  It  was  a 
mild,  melancholy  day,  and  suited  the  Minstrel's  mood. 

He  sat  down  by  him  and  told  of  Kng  and  Court ; 
then,  when  Hilarius  had  once  more  cried  his  longing, 
he  said  gravely  : — 

"  One  comes  who  will  open  more  cage  doors  than 
thine  and  mine,  lad — and  yet  earn  no  welcome." 

Hilarius  looked  at  liim  questioningly. 

"  Lad,  hast  thou  ever  seen  Death  ?  " 

"  Nay,  good  Martin." 

""  It  comes,  lad,  it  comes  ;  or  I  am  greatly  at  fault. 
I  saw  the  Plague  once  in  Flanders,  and  fled  against  the 
wind,  and  so  came  out  with  a  clean  skin  ;  now  I  am  like 
to  see  it  again  ;  for  it  has  landed  in  the  south,  and  creeps 
this  way.  Mark  my  words,  lad,  thou  wilt  know  Death 
ere  the  winter  is  out,  and  such  as  God  keep  thee  from." 

Hilarius  understood  httle  of  these  words  but  the  sound 
of  them,  and  turned  to  speak  of  other  things. 

Martin  looked  at  him  gloomily. 

"  Best  get  back  to  the  cloister  and  Prior  Stephen, 
lad." 

"  Nay,  good  Martin,  that  may  not  be  ;  but  I  have 
still  a  letter  for  the  Abbat  of  St  Alban's,  and  would 
48 


'  One  comes  ivlio  will  open  niorc  cage  doors 
than  thine  and  iiiiiie,  lad' 


?,noob  a^JOti  ano\u  «i<\o  \\\y^s  os\^iy  z^vuoj  ^is<0  * 


f..  •      'cm 


A    SENDING    FROM    THE    LORD 

hasten  thither  if  Sir  John  would  set  me  free.  Methinks 
I  am  a  slow  scholar,"  went  on  poor  Hilarius  ruefully, 
"for  I  have  not  yet  gone  hungry — and  as  for  love, 
methinks  there  are  few  folk  to  love  in  this  wicked 
city." 

Martin  laughed  and  then  grew  grave  again. 

"  Maybe  he  comes  who  will  teach  thee  both,  and  yet  I 
would  fain  find  thee  a  kinder  master.  Well,  well,  lad, 
get  thee  to  St  Alban's  an  it  be  possible  ;  thou  art  best 
in  a  cloister,  methinks,  for  all  thy  wise  Prior  Stephen 
may  say." 

And  he  went  off  singing — 

"  Three  felons  hung  from  a  roadside  tree^ 
One  black  and  one  white  and  one  grey ; 
And  the  ravens  plucked  their  eyes  away 
From  one  and  two  and  three, 
That  honest  men  might  see 
And  thievish  knaves  should  pay  ; 

Lest  these  might  be 

As  blind  as  they. 

Ah,  well-a-day,  well-a-day ! 

One — two — three  !     On  the  gallows-tree 
hung  they." 

Hilarius  hstened  with  a  smile  until  the  last  notes 
of  Martin's  voice  had  died  away,  and  then  fell  a-musing 
of  hunger  and  love,  the  dancer  and  the  Prior. 

Suddenly,  as  if  his  thought  had  taken  speech,  he 
heard  a  voice  say  ; 

D  49 


THE    FLOWER 

"  I  hunger,  I  hunger,  feed  me,  most  sweet  Manna, 
for  I  hunger — I  hunger,  and  I  love." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  there  was  no  one  in 
sight.     Again  the  shrill  quavering  voice  called  : 

"  Love  of  God,  I  hunger,  Love  of  God,  I  die. 
Blessed  Peter,  pray  for  me  !  Blessed  Michael,  defend 
me!" 

Hilarius  knew  now  ;  it  was  the  Ankret,  that  holy 
man  who  for  sixty  years  had  fasted  and  prayed  in 
his  living  tomb  at  the  corner  of  the  cloister.  He 
was  held  a  saint  above  all  the  ankrets  before  liim, 
and  wondrous  wise ;  the  King  himself  had  sought 
liis  counsel,  and  the  Convent  held  liim  in  high 
esteem. 

Again  the  voice  :  Hilarius  strove  to  reach  up  to 
the  grated  window  of  the  cell — it  was  too  high  above 
him.  An  overpowering  desire  came  upon  him  to  ask 
the  Ankret  of  his  future.  With  a  spring  he  caught 
at  the  window's  upright  bars  ;  his  cap  flew  off  and  he 
hung  barehearded,  the  sun  behind  him,  gazing  into 
the  cell. 

On  his  knees  was  an  old  man  whose  long  white  hair 
lay  in  matted  locks  upon  his  shoulders,  and  whose 
beard  fell  far  below  liis  girdle.  The  skin  of  his  face 
was  like  grey  parchment,  and  his  deep-set  eyes  glowed 
strangely  in  their  hollow  cavities. 

50 


A    SENDING    FROM    THE    LORD 

Hilarius  strove  to  speak,  but  words  failed  him. 

The  Ankret,  looking  up,  saw  the  beautiful  face  at  his 
window  with  its  aureole  of  yellow  hair,  and  stretched 
out  his  bony  withered  hands. 

"  Blessed  Michael,  Blessed  Michael,  the  messenger 
of  the  Lord  !  "  he  cried,  gaining  strength  from  the 
vision. 

"  What  would'st  thou.  Father  ? "  said  Hilarius, 
afraid. 

"  Nay,  who  am  I  that   I  should  speak  ?    and   yet, 

and    yet "    the    old    man's    voice    grew    weaker 

— "  the  Bread  of  Heaven  that  I  may  die  in 
peace." 

He  stretched  out  his  hands  again  entreatingly,  and 
Hilarius  was  sore  perplexed. 

"  Dost  thou  crave  speech  of  the  Abbat,  my  Father  ?  " 

The  Ankret  looked  troubled. 

"  Blessed  Michael,  Blessed  Michael !  "  he  murmured 
entreatingly. 

Hilarius'  hands  hurt  liim  sore ;  it  was  clear  that  the 
holy  man  saw  some  wondrous  vision,  and  'twas  no  time 
to  gain  speech  of  him. 

"  Blessed  Michael,  Blessed  Michael !  "  quavered  the 
old,  tired  voice. 

Hilarius  felt  himself  slipping ;  with  a  great  effort 
he  held  fast  and  braced  himself  against  the  wall. 

51 


THE    FLOWER 

"  Blessed  Michael,  Blessed  Michael !  "—The  appeal 
in  the  half-dead  face  was  awful. 

Hilarius'  grip  failed ;  he  slid  to  the  ground,  bruised 
and  sore  from  the  unaccustomed  strain,  but  well  pleased. 
True,  he  had  gained  no  counsel  from  the  Ankret,  but 
he  had  seen  the  holy  man — ay,  even  when  he  was 
visited  by  a  heavenly  messenger,  and  that  in  itself 
should  bring  a  blessing.  He  turned  to  go,  when  a 
sudden  thought  came  to  him.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight,  no  sound  but  the  failing  cry  from  the  tired  old 
saint.  Hilarius  doffed  liis  cap  again  and  his  fresh 
young  voice  rose  clear  and  sweet  through  the  tliin 
still  air : — 

"  lesu,  dulcis  memoria, 
Dans  vera  cordis  gaudia  ; 
Sed  super  mel  et  omnia 
Dulcis  ejtis  praesentia." 

At  the  fourth  stanza  his  memory  failed  him ;  but 
he  could  hear  the  Ankret  crooning  to  himself  the 
words  he  had  sung,  and  crying  softly  like  a  Httle 
child. 

Hilarius  went  home  with  wonder  in  his  heart,  but 
said  no  word  of  what  had  befallen  him  ;  and  that  night 
the  Ankret  died,  and  the  Sub-Prior  gave  him  the  last 
sacraments. 

Next  day  it  was  known  that  a  vision  had  been  vouch- 
52 


A    SENDING    FROM    THE    LORD 

safed  the  holy  man  before  his  end  ;  and  that  the  Prince 
of  Angels  himself  had  brought  his  message  of  release  : 
and  Hilarius,  greatly  content  to  think  that  the  Blessed 
Michael  had  indeed  been  so  near  him.  kept  his  own 
counsel. 

He  told  Lady  Eleanor  of  Martin's  words. 

"  God  save  the  King  !  "  she  said,  and  went  into  her 
oratory  to  pray  :  and  there  was  need  of  prayer,  for 
the  Minstrel's  foreboding  was  no  idle  one.  Ere  London 
knew  it  the  Plague  was  at  her  gates  ;  yet  the  King, 
undeterred,  came  to  spend  Christmas  at  Westminster ; 
but  Martin  was  not  in  his  train.  Men's  mirth  waxed 
hot  by  reason  of  the  terror  they  would  not  recognise. 
Banquet  and  revel,  allegory  and  miracle  play  ;  pageant 
of  beautiful  women  and  brave  men ;  junketing,  ay, 
and  rioting — thus  they  flung  a  defiance  at  the  enemy ; 
and  then  fled :  for  across  the  clash  of  the  feast  bells 
sounded  the  mournful  note  of  funeral  dirge  and  requiem. 

Eleanor,  knowing  Hilarius'  ardent  longing  for  school 
and  master,  prayed  her  father  to  send  him  on  the  way 
to  St  Alban's  instead  of  keeping  him  with  them  to 
follow  a  fugitive  Court.  The  good  knight,  feeling  one 
page  more  or  less  mattered  little  when  Death  was  so 
ready  to  serve,  and  anxious  for  the  lad's  safety  and 
well-being,  assented  gladly  enough.  So  it  came  to 
pass  that  on  the  Feast  of  the  Three  Kings  Hilarius 

53 


THE    FLOWER 

found  himself  on  the  WatUng  Street  Way,  a  well-filled 
purse  in  his  pocket,  but  a  fearful  heart  under  his  jerkin  ; 
for  the  Death  he  had  never  seen  loomed  large,  a 
great  king,  and  by  all  accounts  a  most  mighty 
hunter. 


54 


CHAPTER  IV 

BLIND   EYES   WHICH    COULD    SEE 

It  is,  for  the  most  part,  the  moneyed  man  who  flees 
from  the  face  of  Death ;  the  poor  man  awaits  him 
quietly,  with  patient  indifference,  in  the  field  or  under 
his  own  roof-tree ;  ay,  and  often  flings  the  door  wide 
for  the  guest,  or  hastens  his  coming.  Thus  it  came  to 
pass  that  while  the  stricken  poor  agonised  in  the  grip 
of  unknown  horror,  bishop  and  merchant,  prince  and 
chapman,  fine  ladies  in  gorgeous  htters,  abbesses  with 
their  train  of  nuns,  and  many  more,  fled  north,  east, 
and  west  from  the  pestilent  cities,  and  encumbered 
the  roads  with  much  traffic.  One  procession,  and  one 
OTily,  did  Hilarius  meet  making  its  way  to  London. 

It  was  a  keen  frosty  day ;  there  had  been  little 
previous  rain  or  snow,  and  the  roads  were  dry  ;  the 
trees  in  the  hedgerows,  bare  and  stricken  skeletons, 
stood  out  sharp  and  black  against  a  cold  grey  sky. 
Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  mournful  chant  smote  upon 
the  still  air,  music  and  words  alike  strange.  The 
singers  came  slowly   up  the  roadway,  men  of  foreign 

55 


THE    FLOWER 

aspect  walking  with  bent  heads,  their  dark,  matted 
locks  almost  hiding  their  wild,  fixed  eyes  and  thin, 
haggard  faces.  They  were  stripped  to  the  waist,  their 
backs  torn  and  bleeding,  and  carried  each  a  bloody 
scourge  wherewith  to  strike  liis  fellow.  At  the  third 
step  they  signed  the  sign  of  the  Cross  with  their 
prostrate  bodies  on  the  ground ;  and  thus  in  blood 
and  penitence  they  went  towards  London. 

Hilarius  was  familiar  with  the  exercise  but  not  with 
the  manner  of  it.  These  strange,  mid  men  filled  him 
with  horror,  and  he  shrank  back  with  the  rest.  Then 
a  man  sprang  from  among  the  watching  crowd,  tore 
off  jerkin  and  shirt,  and  flung  up  his  arms  to  heaven 
with  a  great  sob. 

"  I  left  wife  and  children  to  perish  alone,"  he  cried, 
"  and  fled  to  save  my  miserable  skin.  Now  may  God 
have  mercy  on  my  soul,  for  I  go  back.  Smite,  and 
smite  hard,  brother  !  "  and  he  stepped  in  front  of  the 
first  flagellant. 

At  this  there  arose  a  cry  from  the  folk  that  looked 
on,  and  many  fell  on  their  knees  and  confessed  their 
sins,  accusing  themselves  with  groanings  and  tears  ; 
but  Hilarius,  seized  with  sudden  terror,  turned  and 
fled  bhndly,  mthout  thought  of  direction,  his  eyes 
wide,  the  blood  drumming  in  liis  ears,  a  great  horror 
at  his  heels  —  a  horror  that  could  drive  a  man  from 

56 


BLIND  EYES  WHICH    COULD    SEE 

wife  and  child,  that  had  driven  brave  Martin  to  flee 
against  the  wind,  and  all  his  folk  to  leave  house  and 
home  to  save  that  which  most  men  count  dearer  than 
either. 

At  last,  exhausted  and  panting,  he  stayed  to  rest, 
and  saw,  coming  towards  him,  a  blind  friar.  Hilarius 
had  turned  into  a  by-way  in  the  hurry  of  his  terror,  and 
they  two  were  alone.  The  friar  was  a  small,  mean- 
looking  man,  feeling  his  way  by  the  aid  of  hand  and 
staff ;  his  face  upturned,  craving  the  light.  He  stopped 
when  he  came  up  with  Hilarius,  and  turned  his  sightless 
eyes  on  him  ;  a  fire  burnt  in  the  dead  ashes. 

"  Art  thou  that  son  of  Christ  waiting  to  guide  my 
steps,  as  the  Lord  promised  me  ?  " 

Hilarius  started  back,  afraid  at  the  strange  address  ; 
but  the  friar  laid  one  lean  hand  on  his  arm,  and,  letting 
the  staff  slip  back  against  his  shoulder,  felt  Hilarius' 
face,  not  with  the  light  and  practised  touch  of 
the  blind,  but  slowly  and  carefully,  frowning  the 
while. 

"  Son,  thou  wilt  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  good  Father,  I  may  not ;  I  am  for  St  Alban's." 

"  Whence,  my  son  ?  " 

"  From  Westminster,  good  Father." 

"  Nay,  then,  thou  may  est  spare  shoe-leather.  I 
left  the  Monastery  but  now,  and,  I  warrant  thee,  they 

.  57 


THE    FLOWER 

promise  small  welcome  to  those  from  pestilent  cities. 
\Vhat  would'st  thou  with  the  Abbat  ?  " 

Hilarius  told  him. 

The  friar  flung  up  his  hands. 

"  Laus  Deo  !  Laus  Deo  !  "  he  cried,  "  now  I  know 
thou  art  in  very  truth  the  lad  of  my  dream.  Listen, 
my  son,  and  I  will  tell  thee  all.  Thrice  has  the  vision 
come  to  me  ;  I  see  the  mother  who  bore  me  carried 
away,  struggling  and  cursing,  by  men  in  black  apparel, 
and  Hell  is  near  at  hand,  belching  out  smoke  and 
flame,  and  many  hideous  devils  ;  yet  the  place  is  little 
Bungay,  where  my  mother  hath  a  cot  by  the  river. 
When  first  the  dream  came  I  lay  at  Mechlin  in  the 
Monastery  there  ;  my  flesh  quaked  and  my  hair  stood 
up  by  reason  of  the  awfulness  of  the  vision ;  then  as 
I  mused  and  prayed  I  saw  in  it  the  call  of  the  Lord, 
that  I  might  wrestle  with  Satan  for  my  mother's  soul, 
for  she  was  ever  inclined  to  evil  arts  and  spells,  and 
thought  little  of  aught  save  gain. 

"  Forthwith  I  suffered  no  man  to  stay  me,  and  set 
off,  the  Plague  at  my  heels  ;  but  ever  out- stripping  it, 
I  was  careful  to  preach  its  coming  in  every  place,  that 
men  might  turn  and  repent.  Then  as  I  tarried  on  the 
seaboard  for  a  ship  the  Plague  came  ;  and  because  I 
had  preached  its  coming,  the  people  rose  in  wrath, 
and,  falling  upon  me,  roughly  handled  me.     They  beat 

58 


BLIND   EYES  WHICH   COULD   SEE 

me  full  sore  in  the  market-place  ;  then,  piercing  my 
eyeballs,  set  me  adrift  in  a  small  boat. 

"  Two  days  and  two  nights  I  lay  at  the  mercy  of 
the  sea,  darkness  and  light  alike  to  me,  and  with  no 
thought  of  time ;  for  the  flames  of  hell  burnt  in  my 
eyes,  and  a  worse  anguish  in  my  heart  because  of  my 
mother's  soul." 

"  And  then,  and  then  ?  "  cried  Hilarius  breathlessly, 
tears  of  pure  pity  in  his  eyes. 

"  Then  the  Lord  cared  for  me  even  as  He  cared  for 
the  Prophet  Jonas,  and  sent  a  ship  that  His  message 
might  not  be  hindered.  The  shipmen  were  kindly 
folk,  but  we  were  driven  out  of  our  course  by  a  great 
wind,  and  at  last  came  on  shore  in  Lincolnshire.  I  have 
come  south  thus  far  by  the  aid  of  Christian  men,  but 
time  presses  ;  and  now,  lo  !  thou  art  here  to  guide  me." 

"  But,  my  Father,"  said  poor  Hilarius,  seeing  yet 
another  barrier  in  the  way  of  his  desires,  "  'tis  a  limner 
I  would  be  ;  and  I  am  from  Westminster,  not  London, 
and  then  there  is  Prior  Stephen's  letter " 

The  friar  held  up  his  hand  : 

"  Thou  shalt  be  a  hmner,  my  son,  the  Lord  hath 
revealed  it  to  me.  liast  night  the  vision  came  again, 
and  a  voice  cried  :  '  Speed,  for  a  son  of  Christ  waits 
by  the  way  to  guide  thy  steps,'  and  lo  !  thou  art  here, 
waiting  by  the  way,  as  the  voice  said.     And  now,  son, 

59 


THE    FLOWER 

an  thou  wilt  come  thou  shalt  take  thy  letter  to  Wymond- 
ham — 'tis  a  cell  of  tliis  Abbey — for  there  is  Brother 
Andreas  from  overseas  who  hath  wondrous  skill  with 
the  brush ;  he  will  teach  thee,  for  thou  shalt  say  to 
him  that  Brother  Amadeus  sent  thee,  who  is  now  as 
Bartimeus,  waiting  for  the  Hght  of  the  Lord  ;  but  first 
thou  shalt  set  me  in  the  village  of  Bungay,  where  my 
mother  dwelleth." 

Hilarius  listened,  gazing  awestruck  at  the  withered 
eyes  that  vainly  questioned  his  face.  He  had  forgotten 
plague,  death,  flagellants,  in  this  absorbing  tale  of  the 
man  of  God,  who  was  even  as  one  of  the  blessed  martyrs. 
Brother  Andreas  !  A  sldlled  limner !  How  should  he, 
Hilarius,  gainsay  one  with  a  vision  from  the  Lord  ? 

"  I  obey,  my  Father,"  he  cried  joyously,  taking  the 
friar's  hand ;  and  they  two  passed  swiftly  down  the 
road,  their  faces  to  the  east. 


60 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   WHITE    WAY   AND    WHERE    IT   LED 

It  was  a  bitterly  cold  night  and  St  Agnes'  Eve  ;  the 
snow  fell  heavily,  caught  into  whirling  eddies  by  the 
keen  north  wind.  Hilarius  and  the  Friar,  crossing  an 
empty  waste,  or  bleak  unprotected  heath,  met  the  full 
force  of  the  blast,  and  each  moment  the  snow  grew 
denser,  the  darkness  more  complete.  They  struggled 
on,  breathless,  beaten,  exhausted  and  lost ;  Hilarius, 
leading  the  Friar  by  one  hand,  held  the  other  across 
his  bent  head  to  shield  himself  from  the  buffets  of  the 
wind. 

Suddenly  he  stood  fast. 

"  I  can  no  more,  Father,"  he  said,  "  the  snow 
is  as  a  wall ;  there  is  naught  to  see  or  to  hear ; 
I  deem  we  are  far  from  our  right  way."  His  voice 
was  very  weak,  and  he  caught  at  the  Friar  for 
support. 

"  I  will  pray  the  Lord,  my  son,  that  He  open  thine 
eyes,  even  as  He  opened  the  eyes  of  the  prophet's 
servant  in  the  besieged  city ;   so  shalt  thou  see  an  host 

6i 


THE    FLOWER 

of  angels  encompassing  us,  for  we  are  about  the  Lord's 
business." 

"  Nay,  my  Father,"  said  Hilarius  feebly,  "  I  see  no 
angels,  and  I  perish."  He  tottered,  and  would  have 
fallen,  but  the  Friar  caught  liim  in  his  arms.  A 
moment  he  stood  irresolute,  the  boy  on  his  breast, 
then  flung  away  his  staff  and  lifted  him  to  his 
shoulder. 

With  unerring,  confident  step  he  went  forward 
through  the  snow,  a  white  figure  bearing  a  white 
burden  in  a  white  world.  All  at  once  the  wind 
dropped,  the  blinding  shower  ceased,  and  Hilarius, 
rested  and  comforted,  spoke  : — 

"  Is  it  thou,  my  Father  ?  " 

"It  is  I,  my  son,  but  angels  are  on  either  hand  and 
go  before  to  guide.  The  snow  hath  ceased,  canst  thou 
walk  ?  " 

He  set  Hilarius  gently  on  his  feet,  and  lo  !  he  found 
the  stars  alight ! 

The  boy  gave  a  cry,  and  forgetting  his  companion's 
darkness,  pointed  to  the  left,  where  lay  a  snow-clad 
village. 

"  A  miracle,  a  miracle,  my  Father  !  " 

"  A  miracle,  i'  faith,  my  son :    the  Lord  hath  given 
guidance  to  the   blind   as  He  promised.      Let  as  go 
down." 
62 


THE    WHITE    WAY 

They  went  by  the  wliite  way  under  the  stars  ;  and 
Hilarius  was  full  of  awe  and  comfort  because  of  the 
angels  of  God  which  attended  on  a  poor  friar. 

At  a  village  hostel  they  found  rough  but  friendly 
entertainment  and  several  guests.  They  dried  them- 
selves at  a  roaring  fire,  and  Hilarius  made  a  hearty 
meal ;  the  Friar  would  eat  nothing  save  a  morsel  of 
bread. 

A  messenger  was  there,  a  short  stout  man  with  stubbly 
beard,  bright  black  eyes  Hke  beads,  and  a  high  colour. 
He  was  riding  with  despatches  from  the  King  to  the 
Abbat  at  Bury,  and  had  fearful  tales  to  tell  of  the 
Plague ;  how  in  London  they  piled  the  dead  in 
trenches,  while  many  who  escaped  the  pest  died  of 
want  and  cold ;  it  was  a  city  of  the  dead  rather  than 
the  living.  One  great  lord,  travelling  post-haste  from 
Westminster,  had  been  found  by  his  servants  to 
have  the  disorder,  and  they  fled,  leaving  him  by 
the  wayside  to  perish. 

Hilarius  heard,  horror-struck. 

"  'Tis  a  grievous  shame  so  to  desert  a  sick  master," 
he  said. 

"  Nay,  lad,"  said  a  chapman  in  the  corner,  "  but  a 
man  loves  his  own  skin  best." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  a  fat  ruddy-faced  miller,  over- 
taken  by  the   storm   on  his   way  to   a   neighbouring 

63 


THE    FLOWER 

village,  "  a  man's  own  skin  before  all.  Fill  your 
belly  first  and  your  neighbour's  afterwards.  Live 
and  let  live." 

"  Ay,  let  live,"  chimed  in  mine  host,  busthng  in  with 
a  stoop  of  eider  for  the  chapman,  "  but,  by  the  Rood, 
'tis  cruel  work  when  two  lone  women  are  murdered  for 
a  bit  of  mouldy  bacon  and  a  lump  of  bread  ;  for  I'se 
warrant  'tis  a  long  day  sin'  they  had  more  than  that 
at  best." 

The  chapman  took  his  cider. 

"  Where  was  this  work  done  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Nay,  where  but  here  on  the  bruary  !  The  women 
were  found  Wednesday  se'n-night  by  the  herd  as  he 
went  folding.  They  lay  on  the  floor  in  their 
blood." 

Hilarius  turned  sick.  In  Westminster,  by  some 
miracle,  he  had  been  spared  the  sight  of  violent  death — 
ay,  or  of  death  in  any  form — and  had  seen  nothing  worse 
than  a  rogue  in  the  stocks,  for  which  sight  he  had 
thanked  Heaven  piously. 

"  'Tis  the  fault  of  the  rich,"  said  a  voice,  and  Hilarius 
saw,  to  his  surprise,  that  there  was  a  second  friar 
in  the  room ;  a  tall,  bullet-headed  man,  with  a  heavy, 
obstinate  jaw  ornamented  with  a  scanty  fringe  of 
black  hair. 

"  The  rich  grow  fat,  and  the  poor  starve,"  he  went 
64 


'  At  a  village  hostel  they  found  rough 
but  friendly  entertaimnent ' 


THE    WHITE    WAY 

on,  "  'tis  hunger  makes  a  man  kill  his  brother  for  a 
mouthful  of  mouldy  bacon." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  miller,  "  there  was  no  need  to  kill, 
Father.  A  man  could  have  taken  the  meat  from  two 
lone  women  and  left  them  their  hves." 

"  Why  take  from  folk  as  poor  as  themselves  ?  "  said 
mine  host.  "  Let  them  rob  the  rich  an  they  must 
rob." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  friar,  "  rob  the  rich,  say  you,  take 
their  own,  say  I.  God  did  not  make  this  world  that 
one  man  should  be  over  full  and  another  go  empty ; 
nor  is  it  religion  that  the  monks  should  live  on  the  fat  o' 
the  land  and  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor.  How  many 
manors,  tliink  you,  has  the  Abbat  of  St  Edmund's  and 
how  many  on  his  land  lack  bread  ?  " 

Hilarius  listened,  scarlet  with  indignation,  a  flood 
of  wrathful  defence  pent  at  his  Hps,  for  the  blind  friar 
laid  a  restraining  hand  on  liis  sleeve. 

Mine  host  scratched  his  head  doubtfully.  The  teach- 
ing was  seditious,  and  made  a  man  liable  to  stocks  and 
pillory ;  but  it  tickled  the  ears  of  the  common  folk 
and  'twas  ill  to  quarrel  with  the  Mendicants.  Help 
came  to  him  in  perplexity  :  a  loud  knocldng  on  the 
barred  door  made  the  guests  within  start. 

"  'Tis  eight  o'  the  clock,"  said  the  miller,  affrighted, 
for  he  had  a  heavy  purse  on  him. 

E  65 


THE    FLOWER 

"  Let  them  knock  and  cool  their  hot  heads,"  said  the 
seditious  friar  composedly. 

The  rest  nodded  approval. 

Then  a  man's  voice  threatened  without. 

"  Wliat  ho  !  unbar  the  door.  Is  this  a  night  to  keep 
a  man  without  ?  Open,  open,  or,  by  the  Mass,  thou 
shalt  smart  for  it." 

Mine  host  shook  his  head  fearfully,  and  his  fat  cheeks 
trembled  ;  he  moved  slowly  and  unwilhngly  to  the  door 
and  took  down  the  stout  wooden  bar.  As  it  swung 
back  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  man  burst  in,  at  sight 
of  whom  mine  host  turned  yet  paler. 

"  Food  and  drink,"  said  the  new-comer  sharply, 
flinging  himself  on  a  bench  by  the  fire. 

Hilarius  thought  he  had  never  seen  so  strange  a  fellow. 
His  hair  was  close  cropped  ;  ay,  and  his  ears  also.  His 
eyes  were  very  small  and  near  together ;  his  nose  a 
shapeless  lump  ;  his  lip  drawn  up  showed  two  rat-like 
teeth.  Silence  fell  on  the  company,  and  the  chapman, 
who  had  been  searching  amongst  his  goods  for  some- 
thing wherewith  to  pay  his  hospitality,  was  hastily 
putting  them  back,  when  the  man,  looking  up,  caught 
sight  of  a  bundle  of  oaten  pipes  among  the  miscellaneous 
wares.  He  plucked  one  to  him,  and  in  a  moment  the 
air  was  full  of  tender  liquid  notes — a  thrush's  roundelay. 
Then  a  blackbird  called  and  his  mate  answered ;  a 
66 


THE    WHITE    WAY 

cuckoo  cried  the  spring-song ;  a  linnet  moiu'ned  with 
Ufting  cadence ;  a  nightingale  poured  forth  her 
deathless  love. 

Mine  host  came  in  with  a  dish  piled  high  and  a  stoop 
of  mead  ;  the  man  threw  the  pipe  from  him  with  a  rough 
oath  and  fell  to  ravenously  on  the  victuals.  He  held 
his  head  low  and  ate  brutishly  amid  dead  silence  ;  then 
he  looked  up  and  cursed  at  them  for  their  sorry  mood. 

"  What !  Hugh  pipes  and  never  a  word  of  thanks 
nor  a  jest  ?     Damn  you  all  for  dull  dogs  !  " 

The  blind  friar  rose  and  fixed  his  withered  eyes  on 
the  man's  dreadful  face. 

"  Piping  Hugh  of  jVIildenliall,"  he  said,  and  at  his 
voice  the  man  leapt  to  his  feet  and  thrust  his  arm  out  as 
if  for  protection.  "  Piping  Hugh  of  Mildenhall,"  said 
the  Friar  again,  "  I  have  a  message  for  thee  from  the 
Lord  God.  I  cried  thee  damned  in  my  own  name  once, 
when  thou  did'st  take  my  little  sister  to  shame  and 
death  ;  now  I  cry  thee  thrice  damned  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  for  the  cup  of  thine  iniquity  is  full  and  thy  hands 
red  with  blood.  Man  hath  branded  thee ;  now  God 
will  set  His  mark  on  thee  and  all  men  shall  see  it.  The 
Plague  will  come  and  come  swiftly,  but  it  shall  not  touch 
thee ;  many  shall  die  in  their  sins  ;  thou  shalt  hve  on 
with  thine.  A  brute  thou  art,  and  with  brutes  thou 
shalt  herd  ;   thou  shalt  howl  as  a  ravening  wolf,  and  as 

67 


THE    FLOWER 

such  men  shall  hunt  thee  from  their  doors.  Thou  shall 
seek  death,  even  as  Cain  sought  and  found  it  not, 
because  of  the  mark  of  the  Lord.  Thou  art  damned, 
thrice  damned ;  thy  speech  shall  go  from  thee,  thy 
sight  fail  thee,  thy  mind  be  darkened ;  thou  art 
given  over  to  the  Evil  One,  and  he  shalt  torment 
thee  with  remembrance." 

There  was  dead  silence ;  then  with  a  long  shrill  howl 
the  man  tore  open  the  door,  dashed  from  the  house,  and 
fled,  a  black  blotch  upon  the  whiteness  of  the  night. 

The  guests  huddled  together  aghast,  and  no  man 
moved,  until  Hilarius,  full  of  pride  at  his  Friar's  powers, 
stepped  forward  to  close  the  door.  He  was  too  late ; 
it  swung  to  with  a  loud  crash  like  the  sound  of  doom. 
The  Friar  sank  back  composedly  on  the  bench,  and  the 
company  began  in  silence  to  make  preparation  for  the 
night.  When  all  was  ordered,  Hilaiius  bade  the  Friar 
come,  and  he  rose  at  the  lad's  voice  and  touch.  Then 
he  crossed  to  where  the  others  stood  apart  eyeing  him 
fearfully. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  miUer's  breast  and  said  in  a 
clear,  low  voice  :   "  Thou  wilt  die,  brother." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  messenger's  breast :  "  Thou 
wilt  die,  brother." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  chapman's  breast :    "  Thou 
wilt  die,  brother." 
68 


THE    WHITE    WAY 

He  laid  his  hand  on  mine  host's  breast :  "  Thou  wilt 
die,  brother." 

Then  he  came  to  the  other  Friar  who  stood  at  a  Httle 
distance,  his  face  dark  with  anger  and  fear,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  breast :  "  Thou  wilt  live,  my  brother— and 
repent." 


69 


CHAPTER  VI 


A    DARK    FINDING 


It  is  a  far  cry  from  St  Alban's  to  Bungay — which 
village  of  the  good  ford  lies  somewhat  south-east  of 
Norwich,  five  leagues  distant — and  the  journey  is 
doubled  in  the  winter  time.  Hilarius  and  the  Friar 
were  long  on  the  road,  for  January's  turbulent  mood  had 
imprisoned  them  many  da3^s,  and  early  February  had 
proved  little  lander.  They  had  companied  with  strange 
folk,  light  women  and  brutal  men ;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  coarse  word  and  foul  jest  were  hushed  in  the 
presence  of  the  blind  friar  and  the  lad  with  the  wonder- 
ing eyes.  In  every  village  the  Friar  preached  and  called 
on  men  to  repent  and  be  saved,  for  Death's  shadow 
was  already  upon  them.  Folk  wondered  and  gaped — 
the  Plague  was  still  only  a  name  ten  leagues  east  of 
London — but  many  repented  and  confessed  and  made 
restitution,  though  some  heard  with  idle  ears,  remember- 
ing the  prophecy  of  Brother  Robert  who  had  come  with 
the  same  message  half  a  man's  lifetime  before,  and  that 
no  evil  had  followed  his  preaching. 
70 


A    DARK    FINDING 

At  last  St  Matthias'  Eve  saw  Hilarius  and  the  Friar 
at  St  Edmund's  Abbey.  There  were  many  guests  for 
the  Convent's  hospitaUty  that  night,  and  as  Hilarius 
entered  the  hall  of  the  guest-house — a  brother  had 
charged  himself  with  the  care  of  the  Friar — he  heard 
the  sound  of  the  vielle,  and  a  rich  voice  which  sang  in 
good  round  English,  against  the  fashion  of  the  day. 

"  Martin,  Martin  !  "  he  cried. 

The  vielle  was  instantly  silent. 

"  Hola,  lad  !  "  cried  the  Minstrel,  springing  to  his 
feet ;  he  caught  Hilarius  to  him  and  embraced  him 
heartily. 

"  Why,  lad,  not  back  in  thy  monastery  ?  Nay,  but  I 
made  sure  the  Plague  would  send  thee  flying  home,  and 
instead  I  find  thee  strayed  farther  afield."  Then,  seeing 
the  injured  faces  round  him  for  that  the  song  was  not 
ended,  he  drew  Hilarius  to  the  bench  beside  him  and 
took  up  his  vielle.  "  Be  still  now,  lad,  'til  I  have  finished 
my  ditty  for  this  worshipful  company ;  then,  an't 
please  thee  to  tell  it,  I  will  hear  thy  tale." 

The  guests,  who  had  looked  somewhat  sour  at  the 
interruption,  unpursed  their  lips,  and  settled  to  listen 
as  the  minstrel  took  up  his  song  : — 

"  The  fair  maid  came  to  the  old  oak  tree 
(Sun  and  wind  and  a  bird  on  the  bough), 
The  throstle  he  sang  merrily — merrily — merrily, 

71 


THE    FLOWER 

But  the  fair  maid  wept,  for  sad  was  she^  sad  was  she, 

Her  sweet  knight — Oh  !  where  was  he  ? 

He  lay  dead  in  the  cold,  cold  ground 

(Moon  and  stars  and  rain  on  the  hill), 

In  his  side  and  breast  was  a  bloody  wound. 

Woe,  woe  is  me  for  the  fair  ladye,  and  the  poor  knight  he, 

The  poor  knight — Ah  !  cold  was  he. 

The  maiden  sat  her  down  to  die 

(Cold,  cold  earth  on  her  lover's  breast), 

And  the  little  birds  sang  mournfully. 

And  the  moonshine  kissed  her  tenderly, 

And  the  stars  looked  down  right  pityingly 

On  the  poor  fair  maid  and  the  poor  cold  knight. 

Ah  misery,  dear  misery,  sweet  misery  ! " 

This  mournful  song  was  no  sooner  ended  than  supper 
was  served  ;  and  the  company  proved  themselves  good 
trenchermen.  Hilar! us  caught  sight  of  the  seditious 
friar  making  short  work  of  the  Convent's  victuals,  and 
marvelled  to  see  him  in  a  place  to  which  he  had  given 
so  evil  a  name. 

Martin  was  unf  eignedly  glad  to  see  the  lad,  and  listened 
intently  to  his  tale.  He  nodded  his  head  as  Hilarius 
related  how  the  friar  he  compaiiied  with  preached  in 
each  village  that  men  should  repent  ere  the  scourge  of 
God  fell  upon  them  ;  "  but  there  is  naught  of  it  as  yet," 
said  the  lad. 

"  Nay,  nay,  it  is  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  One  day  it 
is  not ;  and  then  the  next,  men  sicken  and  fall  like 
blasted  wheat.  I  heard  a  bruit  of  London  that  it  was 
72 


A    DARK    FINDING 

but  a  heap  of  graves — nay,  one  grave  rather,  for  they 
flung  the  bodies  into  a  great  trench  ;  there  was  no  time 
to  do  otherwise  :  Black  Death  is  swift  mth  his  stroke." 

Then  Hilarius  told  of  Piping  Hugh  and  the  Friar's 
death- words  to  the  guests. 

Martin  swore  a  round  oath  and  slapped  his  thigh. 

"  Now  know  I  that  thy  Friar  is  a  proper  man  an  he 
has  set  a  curse  on  Piping  Hugh  of  Mldenhall !  A  foul- 
mouthed  knave,  with  many  a  black  deed  to  his  name 
and  blood  on  his  hands,  if  men  say  truth ;  and  yet 
there  was  never  a  bird  that  would  not  come  at  his  call, 
and  I  never  heard  tell  that  he  harmed  one.  What  will 
thy  Friar  in  Bungay,  lad  ?  " 

When  he  had  heard  the  story  of  the  Friar's  twice- 
repeated  vision  and  quest,  the  IVIinstrel  sat  silent  awliile 
with  knitted  brow  and  head  sunk  on  his  breast ;  then  he 
eyed  Hilarius  half  humorously,  half  tenderly. 

"  Metliinks,  lad,  an  thy  Friar  alloweth  it,  I  will  even 
go  to  Bungay  with  thee  ;  for  I  love  thee  well,  lad,  and 
would  have  thy  company.  Also  I  like  not  the  matter 
of  the  vision  and  would  fain  see  the  end  of  it." 

That  night  the  dream  came  again  to  the  Friar,  and  a 
voice  cried  :  "  Haste,  haste,  ere  it  be  too  late."  And  so 
Hilarius  and  Martin  came  to  Bungay,  the  Friar  guiding 
them,  for  the  way  was  his  own.  None  of  the  three  ever 
saw  St  Edmund's  Abbey  again,  for  in  one  short  month 

7c> 


THE    FLOWER 

the  minster  with  its  sister  churches  was  turned  to  be 
a  spital-house,  while  the  dead  lay  in  heaps,  silently 
waiting  to  summon  to  their  ghastly  company  the  living 
that  sought  to  make  them  a  bed. 

Quaint  little  Bungay  lay  snug  enough  in  the  embrace 
of  the  low  vine- crowned  hills  which  half  encircled 
common  and  town.  The  Friar  strode  forward,  straining 
in  his  pace  like  a  leashed  hound ;  Martin  and  Hilarius 
following.  Once  he  stopped  and  turned  a  stricken  face 
on  his  companions. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  said  shrilly. 

A  magpie  went  ducldng  across  the  road,  and  Hilarius 
crossed  himself  fearfully. 

"  Let  us  make  haste,"  cried  the  Friar  when  they  told 
him  ;  and  so  at  full  pace  they  came  to  Bungay  town. 

The  place  looked  empty  and  deserted,  but  from  the 
distance  came  the  roar  and  hum  of  an  angry  crowd. 

"  The  people  are  abroad,"  said  Martin,  and  his  face 
was  very  grave,  "  no  doubt  some  knight  is  here,  and 
there  is  a  bear-baiting  on  the  common.  Prithee,  where 
is  thy  mother's  dweUing,  good  Father,  and  I  will  go  and 
ask  news  of  her  ?  " 

"  'Tis  a  lonely  hovel  by  the  waterside  not  far  from 
the  Cattle  Gate  ;  Goody  Wooten  thou  shalt  ask  for." 

Martin  went  swiftly  forward  over  the  Common ; 
Hilarius  and  the  Friar  followed  more  slowly,  and  when 

74 


A    DARK    FINDING 

they  came  to  the  Cattle  Gate  they  stood  fast  and  waited, 
the  Friar  turning  his  head  anxiously  and  straining  to 
make  his  ears  do  a  double  ser\dce. 

Hilarius,  who  had  hitherto  regarded  Bungay  and 
the  Friar's  business  as  the  last  stage  of  his  journey 
to  Wymondham  and  Brother  Andreas,  was  full  of  fore- 
boding ;  he  watched  Martin  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  saw  him  throw  up  his  hands  with  an  angry 
gesture  and  point  to  the  Friar.  Then  he  fell  to  parley- 
ing with  the  people,  but  Hilarius  was  too  far  off  to 
catch  what  was  said. 

"  See,  there,  'tis  her  son,"  Martin  was  saying  vehe- 
mently ;  "  yon  holy  friar  hath  seen  this  thing  in  a  vision, 
but  alack  !  he  reads  it  otherwise  ;  yea,  and  hath  hasted 
hither  from  overseas  to  wrestle  with  the  Evil  One  for 
his  mother's  soul — and  now,  and  now " 

The  crowd  parted,  and  he  saw  the  most  miserable 
sight.  An  old  woman  lay  on  the  ground  by  the  river's 
edge  ;  a  bundle  of  filthy  water-logged  rags  crowned  by 
a  bruised,  vindictive  face  and  grey  hair  smeared  with 
filth  and  slime.  She  lay  on  her  back  a  shapeless  huddle  ; 
her  right  thumb  tied  to  her  left  toe  and  so  across  : 
there  was  a  rope  about  her  middle,  but  in  their  hot  haste 
they  had  not  stayed  to  strip  her. 

Martin  pressed  forward,  and  then  turning  to  the 
jeering,  vengeful  crowd  : 

75 


THE    FLOWER 

"  By  Christ's  Rood,  this  is  an  evil  work  ye  have 
wrought,"  he  said. 

"  Nay,"  said  one  of  the  bystanders,  "  but  it  was  fair 
judgment,  Mnstrel.  For  years  she  hath  worked  her 
spells  and  black  arts  in  this  place,  ay,  and  cattle  have 
perished  and  women  gone  barren  through  her  means. 
Near  two  days  agone  a  child  was  lost  and  seen  last  near 
her  door,  ay,  and  never  seen  again.  When  we  came  to 
question  her  she  cursed  at  us  for  meddling  mischief- 
makers,  and  would  but  glare  and  spit,  and  swear  she 
she  knew  naught  of  the  misbegotten  brat." 

"  Maybe  'twas  true  eno',"  said  Martin.  "  I  hate 
these  rough-cast  witch-findings — 'tis  not  a  matter  for 
man's  judgment,  unless  'tis  sworn  and  proven  in  court 
before  the  Justiciary." 

"  Nay,"  joined  in  an  old  man,  "  what  need  of  a 
Justice  when  God  speaks  ?  We  did  but  thole  her  to  the 
river  to  see  if  she  would  sink  or  smm.  The  witch  did 
swim,  as  all  can  testify,  her  Master  helping  her ;  and 
seeing  that,  we  drew  her  under — ay,  and  see  her  now 
as  she  lies,  and  say  whether  the  Devil  hath  not  set  a 
mark  on  his  own  ?  " 

JMartin  wrung  his  hands. 

"  For  the  love  of  Christ,  lay  her  decently  on  her  pallet, 
and  say  no  word  of  this  to  yon  holy  man." 

Moved  by  his  earnest  manner,  one  or  two  more  kindly 
76 


A    DARK    FINDING 

folk  busied  themselves  unfastening  the  ropes  and 
thongs  which  bound  the  witch,  and  bore  her  to  her 
wretched  bed. 

The  people,  in  their  previous  eagerness,  had  torn 
down  the  front  of  the  miserable  hovel  she  called  home, 
so  all  men  could  see  the  poor  place  and  its  dead  dis- 
honoured mistress. 

Martin,  finding  his  bidding  accomphshed,  turned  to 
meet  Hilarius  and  the  Friai'  who  were  now  coming 
slowly  across  the  wind-swept  common.  March  mists 
gathered  and  draped  the  sluggish  river ;  the  dry  reeds 
rattled  dismally  in  the  ooze  and  sedge.  Hilarius 
shivered,  and  the  Friar  started  nervously  when  Martin 
spoke. 

"  Friar,"  he  said,  "  God  comfort  thee  !  After  all  thy 
pains  thou  art  too  late  to  speed  thy  mother's  soul ;  she 
passed  to-day,  and  lies  even  now  awaiting  burial  at  thy 
faithful  hands." 

The  Friar  drew  a  quick  breath,  and  Hilarius  questioned 
IMartin  with  a  look.  The  crowd  parted  to  let  them 
through-  and  hung  their  heads  abashed  in  painful 
silence  as  the  Friar,  led  by  Hilarius,  gave  his  blessing. 

They  were  close  to  the  mean  hovel  now,  and  he 
turned  to  Martin. 

"  Didst  thou  hear  of  her  end,  or  did  she  die  alone, 
for  the  people  feared  her  ?  " 


THE    FLOWER 

"  Ay,  she  died  alone,"  answered  Martin,  and  muttered, 
"  now  God  forgive  me  !  "  under  liis  breath. 

As  they  went  into  the  wretched  shed  the  setting  sun 
broke  through  the  lowering  grey  clouds  and  shone  full 
on  the  dead  woman.  It  lighted  each  vicious  Une  and 
hideous  trait  of  the  wrinkled,  toothless  face,  and  betrayed 
the  mark  of  an  evil  life,  sm'charged  with  horrid  fear. 

Hilarius  shrank  back  shuddering.  Could  this  hideous- 
ness  be  death  ?  The  Friar  stepped  forward,  but  Martin 
stayed  him. 

"  Nay,  touch  her  not.  Father,  it  may  be  the  pestilence 
as  thou  didst  read  in  thy  dream." 

The  Friar  fell  on  his  knees  ;  and,  in  the  silence  that 
followed  was  heard  the  drip,  drip,  drip,  fi'om  the  sodden 
rags  on  the  beaten  earth  floor.  The  people  without, 
staring  open-mouthed  and  silent,  saw  the  Friar  look  up  ; 
his  hand  hastily  outstretched  touched  the  dank,  muddy 
hair ;  then  he  knew  all,  and  fell  on  his  face  with  an 
exceeding  bitter  cry.  It  was  answered  by  another  cry — 
the  glad  cry  of  a  lost  child  that  is  found. 

The  Friar,  standing  in  front  of  that  hovel  of  death, 
preached  to  the  cringing,  terrified  people,  many  of  whom 
knelt  and  crouched  in  the  down-trodden  grass  and  quag. 
He  threw  up  his  arms,  and  turned  his  bhnd,  anguished 
face  to  the  setting  sun. 
78 


A    DARK    FINDING 

"  Woe  to  the  rebellious  children,  saith  the  Lord,  that 
take  counsel  but  not  of  -Me,  that  they  may  add  sin  to  sin  ! 
Darkness  shall  come  upon  them ;  Death  shall  overtake 
them  ;  their  place  shall  know  them  no  more.  Let  them 
bare  their  backs  to  the  scourge,  let  them  confess  and 
repent  ere  I  visit  them  as  I  visited  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 
cities  of  the  Plain. 

"  0  ye  people,  ye  have  taken  judgment  in  your  hands 
and  judged  falsely  withal ;  but  ye  shall  be  judged  in 
truth,  yea,  even  according  to  your  measure.  Repent, 
repent,  for  Death  cometh  swiftly  and  maketh  no  long 
tarrying.  It  shall  come ;  it  shall  snatch  men's  souls 
away,  even  as  ye  have  torn  away  my  mother's  soul, 
leaving  no  space  for  repentance." 

He  stretched  his  hands  out  over  the  common,  and 
pointed  to  the  little  town. 

"  Your  dwellings  shall  be  desolate,  and  this  place  a 
place  of  heaps.  Ye  shall  run  hither  and  thither,  seeking 
safety  and  finding  none  ;  for  the  arm  of  the  Lord  is 
stretched  out  still  because  of  the  wickedness  of  the  earth. 
Woe,  woe,  woe,  a  disobedient  and  gainsaying  people  ! 
Woe,  woe,  woe,  a  people  hating  righteousness  and  loving 
iniquity  !  The  Lord  shall  straightway  destroy  them 
from  off  the  face  of  the  earth." 

He  made  an  imperative  gesture  of  dismissal,  and 
first  one   and   then   another  in  the  crowd   turned  to 

79 


THE    FLOWER 

slink  home  like  beaten  dogs,  snarling,  growling,  but 
afraid. 

Hilarias  and  Martin  buried  the  witch  at  the  back  of 
her  wretched  den  ;  and  the  Friar,  the  priest  lost  in  the 
son,  prayed  long  by  the  else  unhallowed  grave,  and 
Martin  prayed  beside  him. 

Hilarius  stood  apart,  his  lips  set  straight,  and  said  no 
prayer ;  for  what  availed  it  to  pray  for  an  unassoilzied 
witch  who  had  met  her  due,  damned  alike  by  God  and 
man  ? 

Martin  came  up  to  him. 

"  She  was  his  mother,"  he  said,  as  if  making  excuse. 

Hilarius  stared  in  bewilderment.  His  mother  ?  Ay, 
but  an  evil  liver  ;  and  the  people  of  Bungay  had  wrought 
a  good  work  in  sending  her  to  her  own  place.  He  crossed 
himself  piously  at  the  thought  of  the  near  neighbourhood 
of  devils  busied  with  a  thrice-damned  soul. 

Martin  led  them  out  of  Bungay  by  the  Earsham  road, 
and  the  Friar  clung  to  him  like  a  Httle  child,  for  the 
strength  of  his  vision  was  spent.  They  lay  that  night 
with  a  friendly  shepherd  ;  but  only  one  slept,  and  that 
one  Hilarius.  He  lay  on  a  truss  of  sweet-smelling  hay, 
and  dreamt  of  Wymondham  and  Brother  Andreas  ;  of 
gold,  vermilion  and  blue  ;  of  wondrous  pictiu-es,  and  a 
great  name  :  and  the  scent  of  the  pine  forest  at  home 
swept  across  his  quiet  sleep. 
80 


A    DARK    FINDING 

On  the  morrow  came  the  parting  of  the  ways,  for 
Hilarius  was  all  aglow  for  Wymondham,  and  Martin 
had  charged  himself  with  the  Friar  at  least  as  far 
as  Norwich. 

"  As  well  lead  a  bhnd  friar  as  sing  blindly  at  another's 
bidding,"  he  said  whimsically,  and  so  they  bade  one 
another  farewell,  never  to  meet  again  in  this  world  ;  for 
Martin  and  the  Friar  went  to  Yarmouth,  not  Norwich, 
and  there  they  perished  among  the  first  when  the  east 
wind  swept  the  Plague  thither  in  a  boat-load  of  sickened 
shipmen.  And  Hilarius — once  again  the  Angel  of  the 
Lord  stood  in  the  path  of  his  desires. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  COMING  OF  HUNGER  AND  LOVE 

HiLARius  fared  but  slowly ;  it  was  ill  travelling  on  a 
high-road  in  good  weather,  but  on  a  cross-road  in  the 
spring  ! — that  w^as  a  time  to  commend  oneself  body  and 
soul  to  the  Saints.  He  walked  warily,  picking  his  way 
in  and  out  of  the  bog  between  fence  and  ditch,  which 
was  all  that  remained  to  show  where  the  piety  of  the 
past  once  kept  a  road.  The  low  land  to  his  left  was 
submerged,  a  desolate  tract  giving  back  a  sullen  grey 
sky,  lifeless,  barren,  save  where  a  gaunt  poplar  hke  the 
mast  of  a  sunken  ship  broke  the  waste  of  waters. 

The  sight  brought  Hilarius'  thoughts  sharply  back  to 
the  events  of  the  evening  before.  Wonderful  indeed 
were  the  judgments  of  God  !  A  mtch — plainly  proved 
to  be  such — had  been  struck  dead  in  the  midst  of  her 
sins  ;  and  London,  that  hght-minded,  reprobate  city, 
was  a  heap  of  graves.  Now  he,  Hilarius,  having  seen 
much  evil  and  the  justice  of  the  Almighty,  would 
get  him  in  peace  to  Wymondham,  there  to  learn  to 
be  a  cunning  hmner ;  and  having  so  learnt  would 
82 


HUNGER    AND    LOVE 

joyfully  hie  him  back  to  Prior  Stephen  and  his  own 
monastery. 

Presently  the  way  led  somewhat  uphill,  and  he  saw 
to  his  right  a  small  hamlet.  It  lay  some  distance  off  his 
road,  but  he  was  sharp-set,  for  the  shepherd's  fare  had 
been  meagre  ;  and  so  turned  aside  in  the  hope  of  an  ale- 
house. There  was  no  side  road  visible,  and  he  struck 
across  the  dank,  marshy  fields  until  he  lighted  on  a  rude 
track  which  led  to  the  group  of  cottages.  The  place 
struck  him  as  strangely  quiet ;  no  smoke  rose  from  the 
chimneys ;  no  dogs  rushed  out  barking  furiously  at  a 
stranger's  advent.  The  first  hovel  he  passed  was  empty, 
the  open  door  showed  a  fireless  hearth.  At  the  second 
he  knocked  and  heard  a  sound  of  scuffling  within.  As 
no  one  answered  his  repeated  summons  he  pushed  the 
door  open  ;  the  low  room  was  desolate,  but  two  bright 
eyes  peered  at  him  from  a  corner, — 'twas  a  rat.  Hilarius 
turned  away,  sudden  fear  at  his  heart,  and  passed  on, 
finding  in  each  hovel  only  empty  silence. 

Apart  from  the  rest,  standing  alone  in  a  field,  was  a 
somewhat  larger  cottage ;  a  bush  swung  from  the  pro- 
jecting pole  above  the  door :  it  was  the  ale-house  that 
he  sought ;  here,  at  least,  he  would  find  some  one.  As 
he  came  up  he  heard  a  child  cr3ang,  and  lo  !  on  the 
doorstep  sat  a  dirty  httle  maid  of  some  foiu"  summers, 
sobbing  away  for  dear  Hfe. 

83 


THE    FLOWER 

Hilarius  approached  diffidently,  and  stooped  down 
to  wipe  away  the  grimy  tears. 

The  child  regarded  him,  round  eyes,  open  mouth ; 
then,  with  a  shrill  cry  of  joy,  she  held  out  her  thin  arms. 

At  the  sound  of  her  cry  the  door  opened  ;  on  the 
threshold  stood  a  woman  still  young,  but  haggard  and 
weary-eyed ;  at  her  breast  was  a  little  babe.  She 
stared  at  Hilarius,  and  then,  pulUng  the  child  to  her  in 
the  doorway,  waved  him  away. 

"  Stand  off,  fool  !— 'tis  the  Plague." 

Hilarius  shrank  back. 

"  And  thy  neighbours  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Nay,  they  were  light-footed  eno'  when  they  saw 
what  was  to  do,  and  left  us  three  to  die  like  rats  in  a 
hole."     Then  eagerly  :   "  Hast  thou  any  bread  ?  " 

He  shook  liis  head. 

"  Nay,  I  came  here  seeking  some.  Art  thou 
hungry  ?  " 

She  threw  out  her  hands. 

"  'Tis  two  days  sin'  I  had  bite  or  sup." 

"  Where  lies  the  nearest  village  ?  and  how  far  ?  " 

"  A  matter  of  an  hour,  over  yonder." 

"  See,  goodwife,"  said  Hilarius,  "  I  will  go  buy  thee 
food  and  come  again." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  So  said  another,  and  he  never  came  back." 

84 


HUNGER    AND    LOVE 

"  Nay,  but  perchance  some  evil  befell  him,"  said 
gentle  Hilarius. 

"  Well,  I  will  trust  thee."  She  went  in  and  returned 
with  a  few  small  coins.  "  'Tis  all  I  have.  Tell  no  man 
whence  thou  art,  else  they  will  hunt  thee  from  their 
doors." 

Hilarius  nodded,  took  the  money,  and  ran  as  fast  as 
he  could  go  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

The  woman  watched  liim. 

"Is  it  fear  or  love  that  lends  him  that  pace  ?  "  she 
muttered,  as  she  sat  down  to  wait. 

It  was  love. 

Hilarius  entered  the  village  discreetly,  and,  adding 
the  Kttle  money  he  had  to  the  woman's  scanty  store, 
bought  bread,  a  flask  of  wine,  flour  and  beans,  and  a 
jug  of  milk. 

"  'Tis  for  a  sick  child,"  he  said  when  he  asked  for  it, 
and  the  woman  pushed  back  the  money,  bidding  him 
God-speed. 

The  return  journey  was  accomplished  much  more 
slowly,  because  of  his  precious  burden ;  and  as  he 
crossed  a  field,  there,  dead  in  a  snare,  lay  a  fine  coney. 

"  Now  hath  Our  Lady  herself  had  thought  for  the 
poor  mother  !  "  cried  Hilarius  joyously,  and  added  it  to 
his  store. 

When  he  reached  the  cottage,  and  the  woman  saw  the 

85 


THE    FLOWER 

food,  she  broke  into  loud  weeping,  for  her  need  had  been 
great ;  then,  as  if  giving  up  the  struggle  to  another  and 
a  stronger,  she  sank  on  the  bed  with  her  fast-failing  babe 
in  her  arms. 

Hilarius  fed  her  carefully  with  bread  and  wine — not 
for  nothing  had  he  served  the  Infirmarian  when  blood- 
letting had  proved  too  severe  for  some  weak  Brother — 
and  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  little  maid  who  sat 
patient,  eyeing  the  food. 

For  her,  bread  and  milk.  He  sat  down  on  a  low 
stool,  and  taking  the  cliild  on  his  knee  slowly  supplied 
the  gaping,  bird-Hke  mouth.  At  last  the  little  maid 
heaved  a  sigh  of  content,  leant  her  flaxen  head  against 
her  nurse's  shoulder,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

Hilarius,  cradling  her  carefully  in  gentle  arms,  crooned 
softly  to  her,  thrilUng  with  tenderness.  She  was  his 
own,  his  little  sister,  the  child  he  had  found  and  saved. 
Surely  Our  Lady  had  guided  him  to  her,  and  her  great 
Mother-love  would  sliield  this  little  one  from  a  foul  and 
horrid  death.  In  that  dirty,  neglected  room,  the  child 
warm  against  his  breast,  Hilarius  lived  the  happiest 
moments  of  his  life. 

Presently  he  rose,  for  there  was  much  to  be  done, 
kissed  the  little  pale  cheek,  noted  fearfully  the  violet 
shadows  under  the  closed  eyes,  and  laid  his  new-found 
treasure  on  the  bed  by  her  mother. 
86 


HUNGER    AND    LOVE 

The  woman  was  half-asleep,  but  started  awake. 

"  Art  thou  going  ?  "  she  said,  and  despair  gazed  at 
him  from  her  eyes. 

"  Nay,  nay,  surely  not  until  we  all  go  together,"  he 
said  soothingly.  "  I  would  but  kindle  a  fire,  for  the 
cold  is  bitter." 

Wood  was  plentiful,  and  soon  a  bright  fire  blazed  on 
the  hearth.  The  poor  woman,  heartened  by  her  meal, 
rose  and  came  to  sit  by  it,  and,  stretcliing  out  her  thin 
hands  to  the  grateful  warmth,  told  her  tale. 

"  'Twas  Gammer  Harden' s  son  who  first  heard  tell 
of  a  strange  new  sickness  at  Caxton's  ;  and  then  Jocell 
had  speech  with  a  herd  from  those  parts,  who  was  fleeing 
to  a  free  town,  because  of  some  ill  he  had  done.  Next 
day  Jocell  fell  sick  with  vomitings,  and  bleeding,  and 
breaking  out  of  boils,  and  in  three  days  he  lay  dead ; 
and  Gammer  Harden  fell  sick  and  died  likewise.  Then 
one  cried  'twas  the  Plague,  and  the  wrath  of  God  ;  and 
they  fled — the  women  to  the  nuns  at  Bungay,  and 
the  men  to  seek  work  or  shelter  on  the  Manor ;  but 
us  they  left,  for  I  was  with  child." 

"  And  thy  husband  ?  "  said  KQlarius. 

"  Nay,  he  was  not  my  hasband,  but  these  are  his 
children,  his  and  mine.  Some  hold  'tis  a  sin  to  live 
thus,  and  perhaps  because  of  it  this  evil  hath  fallen 
upon  me." 

S7 


THE    FLOWER 

She  looked  at  the  babe  lying  on  her  lap,  its  waxen 
face  drawn  and  shrunk  with  the  stress  of  its  short  hfe. 

Hilariiis  spoke  gently  : — 

"It  is  indeed  a  grievous  sin  against  God  and  his 
Church  to  hve  together  out  of  holy  wedlock,  and  per- 
chance 'tis  true  that  for  this  very  thing  thou  hast  been 
afflicted,  even  as  David  the  great  Eng.  But  since 
thou  didst  sin  ignorantly  the  Lord  in  His  mercy  sent 
me  to  serve  thee  in  th}^  sore  need ;  ay,  and  in  very 
truth  Our  Lady  herself  showed  me  where  the  coney  lay 
snared.  Let  us  pray  God  by  His  dear  Mother  to  forgive 
us  our  sins  and  to  have  mercy  on  these  little  ones." 

And  kneeling  there  in  the  firelight  he  besought  the 
great  Father  for  his  new-found  family. 

Five  days  passed,  and  despite  extreme  care  victuals 
were  short.  Hilarius  dug  up  roots  from  the  hedgerows, 
and  went  hungry,  but  at  last  the  pinch  came ;  the 
woman  was  too  weak  and  ill  to  walk,  the  babe  scarce 
in  life — there  coidd  be  no  thought  of  flight — and  the 
httle  maid  grew  white,  and  wan  and  silent.  Then  it 
came  to  Hilarius  that  he  would  once  again  beg  food  in 
the  village  where  he  had  sought  help  before. 

He  went  slowly,  for  he  had  eaten  little  that  his  maid 
might  be  the  better  fed,  and  he  was  very  sad.  When 
he  reached  the  village  he  found  his  errand  like  to  be  vain. 
News  of  the  Plague  was  coming  from  many  parts,  and 


HUNGER    AND    LOVE 

each  man  feared  for  his  own  skin.  At  every  house  they 
questioned  him :  "  Art  thou  from  a  hamlet  where  the 
Plague  hath  been  ?  "  and  when  he  answered  "  Yea," 
the  door  was  shut. 

Very  soon  men,  angry  and  afraid,  came  to  drive  him 
from  the  place.  He  gained  the  village  cross,  and  prayed 
them  for  love  of  the  Saviour  and  His  holy  Rood  to  give 
him  bread  for  his  httle  maid  and  her  mother.  Let  them 
set  it  in  the  street,  he  would  take  it  and  cross  no  man's 
threshold.  Surely  they  could  not,  for  shame,  let  a  Uttle 
child  die  of  want  ? 

"  Nay,  'tis  better  they  die,  so  are  we  safe,"  cried  a 
voice  ;  then  they  fell  upon  him  and  beat  him,  and  drove 
him  from  the  village  with  blows  and  curses. 

Bruised  and  panting,  he  ran  from  them,  and  at  last 
the  chase  ceased ;  breathless  and  exhausted  he  flung 
himself  under  a  hedge. 

A  hawk  swooped,  struck  near  him,  and  rose  again 
with  its  prey.  Hilarius  shuddered ;  but  perhaps  the 
hawk  had  nestlings  waiting  open-mouthed  for  food  ? 
His  Httle  maid  !  His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  thought 
of  those  who  awaited  him.  He  picked  up  a  stone,  and 
watched  if  perchance  a  coney  might  show  itself.  He 
had  never  killed,  but  were  not  his  nestlings  agape  ? 

Nothing  stirred,  but  along  the  road  came  a  waggon 
of  strange  shape  and  gaily  painted.     He  rose  to  his  feet, 

89 


THE    FLOWER 

praying  the  great  Mother  to  send  him  help  in  his  awful 
need. 

The  waggon  drew  near ;  the  driver  sat  asleep  upon 
the  shaft,  the  horse  took  his  own  pace.  It  passed  him 
before  he  could  pluck  up  heart  to  ask  an  alms,  and  from 
the  back  dangled  a  small  sack  and  a  hen.  If  he  begged 
and  was  refused  his  little  maid  must  die.  A  minute 
later  the  sack  and  the  hen  had  changed  owners — but  not 
unobserved ;  a  clear  voice  called  a  halt ;  the  waggon 
stood  fast ;  two  figures  sprang  out,  a  girl  and  a  boy  : 
and  Hilarius  stood  before  them  on  the  white  highway — 
a  thief. 

"  Seize  the  knave  !  "  cried  the  girl  sharply. 

Hilarius  stared  at  her  and  she  at  him.  It  was  his 
dancer,  and  she  knew  him,  ay,  despite  the  change  of 
dress  and  scene,  she  knew  him. 

"  What !  The  worthy  novice  turned  worldling  and 
thief  !  Nay,  'tis  a  rare  jest.  What  of  thy  fine  sermons 
now,  good  preacher  ?  " 

But  Hilarius  answered  never  a  word ;  overcome  by 
shame,  grief,  and  hunger,  sudden  darkness  fell  upon 
him. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  sitting  propped 
against  the  hedge ;    the  waggon  was  drawn  up  by  the 
roadside,  and  the  dancer  and  her  brother  stood  watch- 
ing him. 
90 


HUNGER    AND    LOVE 

"  Fetch  bread  and  wine,"  said  the  girl,  and  to  Hilarius, 
who  tried  to  speak,  "  Peace,  'til  thou  hast  eaten." 

Hilarias  ate  eagerly,  and  when  he  had  made  an  end 
the  dancer  said  : — 

"  Now  tell  thy  tale.  Prithee,  since  when  didst  thou 
leave  thy  Saints  and  thy  nursery  for  such  an  ill  trade 
as  this  ?  " 

Hilarius  told  her  all,  and  when  he  had  finished  he 
wept  because  of  his  little  maid,  and  liis  were  not  the 
only  tears. 

The  dancer  went  to  the  waggon  and  came  back  with 
much  food  taken  from  her  store,  to  which  she  added 
the  hen  ;  the  sack  held  but  fodder. 

"  But  Gia,"  grumbled  her  brother,  "  there  will  be 
naught  for  us  to-night." 

"  Thou  canst  eat  bread,  or  else  go  hungry,"  she 
retorted,  and  filled  a  small  sack  with  the  victuals. 

Hilarius  watched  her,  hardly  daring  to  hope.  She 
held  it  out  to  him  :  "  Now  up  and  off  to  thy  little  maid." 

Hilarius  took  the  sack,  but  only  to  lay  it  down  again. 
Kneeling,  he  took  both  her  little  brown  hands,  and  his 
tears  fell  fast  as  he  Idssed  them. 

"  Maid,  maid,  canst  forgive  my  theft,  ay,  and  my 
hard  words  in  the  forest  ?  God  help  me  for  a  poor, 
blind  fool !  " 

"  Nay,"  she  answered,  "  there  is  naught  to  forgive ; 

91 


THE    FLOWER 

and  see,  thou  hast  learnt  to  hunger  and  to  love  !  Fare- 
well, little  brother,  we  pass  here  again  a  fortnight 
hence,  and  I  would  fain  have  word  of  thy  little  maid. 
Ay,  and  shouldst  thou  need  a  home  for  her,  bring  her 
to  us ;  my  old  grandam  is  in  the  other  waggon  and 
she  will  care  for  her." 

Hilarius  ran  across  the  fields,  fall  of  sorrow  for  his 
sin  and  yet  glad  because  of  the  wonderful  goodness 
of  God. 

Wlien  he  got  back  his  httle  maid  sat  alone  by  the  fire. 
He  hastened  to  make  food  ready,  but  the  child  was  far 
spent  and  would  scarcely  eat.  Then  he  went  out  to  find 
the  woman. 

He  saw  her  standing  in  the  doorway  of  an  empty 
hovel,  and  she  cried  to  him  to  keep  back. 

"  My  babe  is  dead,  and  I  feel  the  sickness  on  me.  I 
went  to  the  houses  seeking  meat,  even  to  Gammer 
Harden's  ;  and  I  must  die.  As  for  thee,  thou  shalt  not 
come  near  me,  but  bide  with  the  child ;  so  maybe 
God  will  spare  the  innocent." 

EQlarius  besought  her  long  that  she  would  at  least 
suffer  him  to  bring  her  food,  but  she  would  not. 

"  Nay,  I  could  not  eat,  the  fever  burns  in  my  bones  ; 
let  me  alone  that  I  may  die  the  sooner." 

Hilarius  went  back  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  lay  that 
night  with  the  little  maid  in  his  arms  on  the  settle  by 
92 


'  Kneeling,  he  took  both  her  little  brown  hands,  and 
his  tears  fell  fast  as  he  kissed  them  ' 

{Page  91) 


'  waAi  bait's^  ^s\  ^^i  Un\\U\^•vn^i  ^\s\ 


HUNGER    AND    LOVE 

the  hearth.  Despite  his  fear  he  slept  heavily  and  late  : 
when  he  rose  the  sun  was  high  and  the  child  awake. 

He  fed  her,  and,  bidding  her  bide  within  went  out  to 
gain  tidings  of  the  poor  mother.  He  called,  but  no  one 
answered ;  and  the  door  of  the  hovel  in  which  she  had 
taken  shelter  stood  wide.  Then,  as  he  searched  the 
fields,  fearing  the  fever  had  driven  her  abroad,  he  saw 
the  flutter  of  garments  in  a  ditch  :  and  lo  !  there  lay  the 
woman,  dead  with  her  dead  babe  on  her  breast.  She 
had  lain  down  to  die  alone  with  God  in  the  silence,  that 
haply  the  living  might  escape ;  and  on  her  face  was 
peace. 

Later,  Hilarius  laid  green  boughs  tenderly  over  mother 
and  babe,  and  covered  them  with  earth,  saying  many 
prayers.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  fatherless,  mother- 
less maid. 

She  ailed  nought  that  he  could  see,  and  there  was  food 
and  to  spare  ;  but  each  day  saw  her  paler  and  thinner, 
until  at  last  she  could  not  even  sit,  but  lay  white  and 
silent  in  Hilarius'  tender  arms ;  and  he  fought  with 
death  for  his  Httle  maid. 

Then  on  a  day  she  would  take  no  food,  and  when 
Hilarius  put  tiny  morsels  in  her  mouth  she  could  not 
swallow  ;  and  so  he  sat  through  the  long  hours,  his  little 
maid  in  his  arms,  with  no  thought  beside.  The  darkness 
came,  and  he  waited,  wide-eyed,  praying  for  the  dawn. 

93 


THE    FLOWER 

When  the  new  day  broke  and  the  east  was  pale  with 
hght  he  carried  the  child  out  that  he  might  see  her,  for 
a  dreadful  fear  possessed  him.  And  it  came  to  pass  that 
when  the  hght  kissed  her  httle  white  face  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  smiled  at  Hilarius,  and,  so  smihng,  died. 

The  dancer,  true  to  her  promise,  scanned  the  road  as 
the  waggon  drew  near  the  place  of  Hilarius'  first  and 
last  theft :  he  was  standing  by  the  wayside  alone.  The 
waggon  passed  on  carrying  him  with  it ;  and  the  dancer 
looked  but  once  on  his  face  and  asked  no  question. 


94 


PART   III 

THE    FRUIT 


CHAPTER  I 

HOW  LONG,  O  LORD,  HOW  LONG  ! 

The  Monastery  by  the  forest  pursued  an  even  existence, 
with  no  great  event  to  trouble  its  serenity,  for  it  lay 
too  far  west  for  the  Plague  to  be  more  than  a  terrible 
name. 

True,  there  had  been  dissension  when  Prior  Stephen, 
summoned  to  Cluny  by  the  Abbat,  had  perforce  left  the 
dominion  to  the  Sub-Prior.  For  lo  !  the  Sub-Prior,  a 
mild  and  most  amiable  man  in  his  own  estate,  had 
proved  harsh  and  overbearing  in  government.  Ay,  and 
in  an  irate  mood  he  had  fallen  upon  Brother  Wilham, 
the  Sacrist,  in  the  Prater,  plucked  out  liis  hair  and 
beaten  him  sore ;  whereat  the  Convent  was  no  little 
scandalised,  and  counselled  Brother  William  to  resign 
his  ojSice.  He  flouted  the  Chamberlain  also,  and 
Brother  Roger  the  Hospitaller,  and  so  affronted  the 
Brethren  that  when  he  began  to  sing  the  Verba  mea  on 
leaving  the  chapter,  the  Convent — yea,  even  the  novices 
— were  silent,  to  show  their  displeasure. 
When  Prior  Stephen  returned  he  was  exceeding  wroth, 
G  97 


THE    FRUIT 

but  said  little ;  only  he  took  from  the  Sub-Prior  his 
office,  and  all  that  appertained  thereto,  and  made  him 
as  one  of  the  other  monks  ;  and  Brother  William,  who 
was  a  gentle  and  devout  servant  of  God,  he  made 
Sub-Prior  in  his  stead ;  and  the  Convent  was  at 
peace. 

Brother  Ambrose,  he  to  whom  the  vision  was  vouch- 
safed, had  slipped  through  the  grey  veil  which  once  hid 
Jerusalem  from  his  longing  gaze ;  Brother  Richard 
was  now  in  the  land  where  the  blind  receive  their  sight ; 
and  Brother  Thomas  the  Cellarer — but  of  him  let  us  say 
little  and  think  with  charity ;  for  'tis  to  be  feared  that 
he  greatly  abused  his  office  and  is  come  to  judgment. 

Two  of  the  older  monks,  Brother  Anselm  and  Brother 
Paul,  who  had  spent  fifty  years  in  the  sheltered  peace  of 
the  Monastery  walls,  sat  warming  their  tired  old  limbs 
in  the  south  cloister,  for  the  summer  sunshine  was  very 
pleasant  to  them. 

"  Since  Brother  Thomas  died — "  began  Brother  Paul. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul !  "  ejaculated 
Brother  Anselm. 

"  Since  Brother  Thomas  died,"  said  Brother  Paul 
again — a  little  impatiently,  though  he  crossed  himself 
piously  enough — "  methinks  the  provisions  have  oft  been 
scanty  and  far  from  tempting.  Brother." 

"  Ay,  and  the  wine,"  said  Brother  Anselm.  "  Me- 
98 


HOW  LONG,  O  LORD,  HOW  LONG! 

thinks  our  Cellarer  draws  the  half  of  it  from  the 
Convent's  well." 

They  shook  their  heads  sadly. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Brother  Anselm  after  a  short 
silence,  "  our  Cellarer  is  most  worthy,  strict,  and  honest 
in  the  performance  of  his  office — while  Brother  Thomas, 
alack " 

"  Methinks  Brother  Edmund  is  somewhat  remiss  also 
in  his  duties,"  said  Brother  Paul.  "  The  Prior,  holy 
man,  perceives  nothing  of  these  things.  On  Sunday's 
feast  one  served  him  with  a  most  unsavoury  mess  in  the 
refectory,  the  dish  thereof  being  black  and  broken  ;  yet 
he  ate  the  meat  in  great  content,  and  seemingly  with 
appetite." 

"  He  is  but  young,  he  is  but  young — sixty  come 
Mchaelmas — sixty,  and  twenty-two  years  Prior — 'tis 
a  long  term  " ;  and  Brother  Anselm  nodded  his  head. 

"  Ay,  he  is  still  young,  and  of  sound  teeth,"  said 
Brother  Paul,  "  whereas  thou  and  I,  Brother,  are  as 
babes  needing  pap-meat.  Brother  Thomas — God  rest 
his  soul ! — was  wont  to  give  savoury  mess  easy  of  eating 
to  the  elder  Brethren." 

"  Ay,  he  was  a  kind  man  with  all  his  fault,"  said 
Brother  Anselm,  fingering  his  toothless  gums.  "  Think 
you  'twould  be  well  to  speak  of  this  matter  to  the 
Prior  ?  " 

99 


THE    FRUIT 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  other,  "he  is  ever  against  any 
store  being  set  on  the  things  of  this  world — '  'tis  well 
for  the  greater  discipline  of  the  flesh,'  so  saith  he  ever. 
Still  he  hath  forbidden  the  blood-letting  to  us  elder 
Brethren." 

"  Methinks  there  is  little  to  let,  since  Brother  Thomas 
died,"  said  Brother  Anselm  ruefully. 

"  Nay,  then,  let  us  seek  out  the  Cellarer  and  admonish 
him — maybe  he  will  hear  a  word  in  season,"  and  the  two 
old  monks  moved  slowly  away  to  the  Cellarer's  office 
as  Prior  Stephen  came  down  the  cloister  walk. 

He  looked  little  older,  his  carriage  was  upright  as  ever, 
but  government  sat  heavy  upon  him  ;  the  keen,  ascetic 
face  was  weary,  and  the  line  of  the  lips  showed  care.  His 
thoughts  were  busy  with  Hilarius.  It  was  now  full  six 
years  that  the  lad  had  left  the  Monastery,  and  since  the 
Cln'istmas  after  his  going  no  news  had  come  of  him,  save 
that  he  never  reached  St  Alban's.  Had  the  Plague 
gathered  him  as  it  gathered  many  another  well-beloved 
son  ?  Or  had  the  awakening  proved  too  sudden  for 
the  lad  set  blind-eyed  without  the  gate  ? 

He  passed  from  the  cloister  into  the  garth  where 
bloomed  the  lilies  that  Hilarius  had  loved  so  well.  He 
looked  at  the  row  of  nameless  graves  with  the  great 
Rood  for  their  common  memorial ;  last  but  one  lay  the 
resting-place  of  Brother  Richard,  and  the  blind  monk's 

100 


HOW  LONG,  O  LORD,  HOW  LONG! 

dying  speech  had  been  of  the  lad  whose  face  he  had 
strained  his  eyes  to  see. 

Prior  Stephen  stood  by  the  farmery  door,  and  the 
scent  of  Mary's  flowers  came  to  him  as  it  had  come  to 
Hilarius  at  the  gate.  He  stretched  out  his  hands  with 
the  strange  pathetic  gestm*e  of  a  strong  man  helpless. 
It  was  all  passing  fair ;  the  fields  of  pale  young  corn 
trembling  in  the  gentle  breeze  ;  the  orchards  and  \ane- 
yards  with  fast  maturing  fruit ;  the  meadows  where  the 
sleek  kine  browsed  languidly  in  the  warm  summer  sun- 
shine. Peace  and  prosperity  everywhere ;  the  old 
Church  springing  into  new  beauty  as  the  spire  rose  slowly 
skywards  ;  peace  and  prosperity,  new  glories  for  the 
House  of  the  Lord ;  and  yet,  and  yet,  his  heart  ached 
for  his  own  helplessness,  and  for  the  exceeding  longing 
that  he  had  for  the  boy  whose  mother  once  held  that 
heart  in  the  hollow  of  her  little  hand. 

Ah  well,  blessed  be  God  who  had  called  him  from 
the  things  of  this  world  to  the  service  of  Christ  and 
the  Church !  Once  again  he  offered  himself  in  the 
flame  of  his  desires  :  he  would  fast  and  pray  and 
wait. 

The  Office  bell  sounded  sharp  and  clear  across  the  still 
summer  air  calKng  to  Vespers,  and  the  Prior  hastened 
to  his  place. 

"  Qui  seminant  in  lachrymis  in  exultatione  metent,^^ 

lOI 


THE    FRUIT 

chanted  the  deep  voices  of  the  monks,  and  Prior 
Stephen's  voice  trembled  as  he  joined  in  the  Psalmody. 

"  Euntes  ibant  et  flehant  mittentes  semina  sua.  Veni- 
entes  autem  venient  cum  exultatione  fortantes  manipulos 
swos." 

He  had  sown  in  tears,  ay,  and  was  weary  of  the 
somng ;  but  the  harvesting  was  not  yet. 


102 


CHAPTER   n 


MARY  S  LILIES 


It  came  to  pass  upon  a  certain  day  scarce  a  se'nnight 
later,  that  Prior  Stephen  was  troubled  in  his  mind  by 
reason  of  a  dream  which  came  to  him. 

It  happened  on  this  wise.  He  was  sitting  by  his 
window  after  the  noon  repast,  musing,  as  he  was  wont, 
on  his  dear  son.  The  song  of  the  bees  busy  in  the  herb- 
garden  was  very  pleasant  to  his  ear,  the  warm,  still  air 
overcame  him,  and  he  slept.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  voice 
calhng — a  voice  he  knew  in  every  fibre  of  his  being  and 
yet  could  set  no  name  to,  for  it  was  the  voice  of  God. 
He  arose  in  haste  and  went  out  into  the  garth,  and  lo  1 
under  the  lilies  Hilarius  lay  sleeping.  The  Prior  stood 
fast  in  great  wonder,  his  heart  leaping  for  joy ;  yet  he 
could  not  cross  the  little  piece  of  grass  that  lay  between 
the  cloister  and  the  farmery  door. 

As  he  watched,  a  woman,  hght  of  foot  and  of  great 
beauty,  came  swiftly  from  the  gate  to  where  Hilarius 
slept ;  and  the  Prior  was  grieved,  and  marvelled  that 
the  porter  had  opened  to  such  an  one  ;  for  it  was  a  grave 

103 


THE    FRUIT 

scandal  that  a  woman  should  set  foot  mthin  the 
Monastery  precincts.  He  strove  to  cry,  but  his  voice 
died  on  his  lips,  and  his  feet  were  as  lead. 

The  woman  stayed  when  she  came  to  the  sleeping 
lad,  and  stooped  to  arouse  him,  but  he  slept  on.  She 
called  him,  and  her  voice  was  as  the  calUng  of  the  summer 
sea  on  a  shelving  beach ;  but  Hilarius  gave  no  heed. 
Then,  in  great  impatience,  she  caught  at  the  white  lihes 
under  which  he  lay ;  and,  as  she  broke  the  flower- 
crowned  stems,  Hilarius  stirred  and  cried  out  in  liis 
sleep,  whereat  she  plucked  the  faster.  Of  a  sudden 
Prior  Stephen  was  as  one  set  free.  He  strode  to  the 
woman's  side :  there  was  but  one  lily  left.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  for  speech  was  still 
far  from  him  :  and  she  fell  back  from  the  one  remain- 
ing blossom  with  a  cry  of  fear — and  Prior  Stephen 
awoke,  for  behold,  it  was  a  dream;  but  he  was  sore 
troubled. 

"  Maybe,"  said  he,  "  evil  threatens  the  lad,  such  evil 
as  slew  his  mother,  on  whom  God  have  mercy  !  "  And 
sighing  heavily  he  took  his  way  to  the  great  Rood  and 
made  supplication  for  his  son. 

Far  away,  under  a  southern  sky,  in  one  of  the  great 
palaces  of  Florence,  there  stood  a  woman  of  fair  stature, 
with  tight-clenched  hands,  whose  many  jewels  bit  the 
104 


MARY'S    LILIES 

tender  flesh.  Her  russet  eyes  flashed  under  threatening 
brows,  her  teeth  held  fast  the  curhng  upper  hp.  Great, 
alack  !  was  her  fame  :  men  crept  to  her  knee  like 
spaniels  craving  favour.  Great  was  her  wealth :  a 
golden  piece  for  every  ruddy  strand  that  hung  a  sliim- 
mering  mantle  to  her  knee.  Her  beauty — nay,  men 
had  slain  themselves  gladly  to  escape  the  torment  of 
her  look.  She  stood  in  the  curtained  doorway,  a  heavy 
purple  hanging  at  her  back  ;  and  the  man  who  awaited 
her  paled  as  he  saw  her  vengeful  face. 

It  was  Hilarius.  He  drew  himself  up  to  the  full  of  his 
slender  height,  and  bowed. 

Panting  a  little,  the  woman  came  towards  him  across 
the  many-hued  marble  floors  ;  and,  as  she  passed,  a 
vase  of  great  white  hhes  caught  in  her  draperies  of 
cramoisie  and  fell.  She  gave  no  heed,  but  swept  on, 
and  faced  him  in  the  sunny  silence.  Across  the  pause 
the  Angelas  sounded  from  a  church  hard  by :  Hilarius 
crossed  himself  devoutly ;  and  the  stillness  fled  before 
a  woman's  scornful  laugh. 

"  Nay,  then,  Signor,"  she  cried  mockingly,  "  is  ours 
to  be  a  war  of  signs  and  silence  ?  I  have  heard  thy  lips 
were  ready  enough  with  judgment,  though  they  halt  at 
a  love-phrase.  By  Our  Lady,  if  all  that  is  said  of  thee 
be  true,  I  will  e'en  have  thee  whipped  at  the  gibbet  for 
thy  gibes !     Speak,  fool,  wliile  thy  tongue  is  left  thee  ; 

105 


THE    FRUIT 

'tis  a  last  asking.  Wilt  thou  paint  this  face  of  mine  that 
is,  it  seems,  so  Uttle  to  thy  liking  ?  Strain  not  my 
patience  over  much — 'tis  a  slender  cord  at  best,  and 
somewhat  tried  already.     Speak,  is  it  yea  or  nay  ?  " 

Hilarius  looked  away  to  where  Mary's  flowers  lay 
bruised  and  scattered  on  the  flag  of  blood-red  marble  ; 
his  answer  came  low  and  clear : — 

"  '  It  is  nay.'  " 

She  thrust  her  head  forward,  and  looked  at  him 
wondering  ;  there  was  a  stain  where  her  teeth  had  been 
busy. 

"  '  It  is  nay,'  "  she  repeated  after  him,  and  her  eyes 
mocked  him.  "  May  a  poor  Princess  ask  the  Signor's 
reason  ?  " 

Hilarius  pointed  past  her  to  the  fallen  HHes. 

"  It  hes  there." 

For  an  instant  the  hot  colour  splashed  the  angry 
whiteness  of  her  cheek  ;  then,  pale  to  the  lips,  she  turned 
on  him  ;  and  she  stammered  in  her  wrath  : — 

"  And  dost  thou — dost  thou  dare,  say  this  to  my  face 
— to  me,  who  stooped  to  ask  when  I  had  but  to 
command  ?  I,  with  my  unmatched  beauty ;  I,  who 
hold  the  hearts  of  men  in  thrall  to  the  lifting  of  my 
eyes  ;  I,  to  whom  men  kneel  as  to  their  God  !  Art  thou 
mad,  mad,  that  thou  canst  set  aside  such  a  behest  as 
mine  ?  'Tis  small  wonder  men  say  thy  doublet  hides 
io6 


MARY'S    LILIES 

a  monkish  dress  ;  of  a  truth  the  tale  they  brought 
savoured  of  httle  else.  Hear  me,  thou  prating,  milk- 
faced  Modesty,  I  choose  that  thou  shalt  limn  this  face 
of  mine  :  say  me  nay,  and  I  will  teach  thee  a  lesson  hard 
of  forgetting ;  for  I  will  silence  thy  preaching  for  aye, 
and  lend  my  serving-men  to  whip  thee  through  the 
streets.  Men,  said  I  ?  Nay,  thou  art  too  much  a  cur 
to  make  fit  sport  for  men  :  rather  my  maids  shall  wield 
the  rod  and  lace  thy  shoulders." 

She  flung  herself  on  a  low  couch  by  the  open  window, 
where  the  peacocks  on  the  terrace  strutted  in  the  sun ; 
and  Hilarius  waited,  dumb  as  the  dog  to  which  she  had 
likened  him,  for  he  had  no  word. 

There  was  silence  a  while. 

Then  the  Princess  spoke,  and  her  voice  cut  Hilarius 
like  the  sting  of  a  lash  : — 

"  Bring  me  yon  flowers." 

He  obeyed. 

"  Set  them  at  my  feet." 

He  bent  his  knee  and  did  so,  wondering. 

A  moment,  and  she  trod  them  under ;  their  dying 
fragrance  filled  the  air,  as  their  living  breath  had  flooded 
the  senses  of  the  bUnd-eyed  lad  at  the  Monastery  gate. 

One  by  one  she  set  her  heel  upon  the  blossoms,  and 
the  marble  was  yellow  with  stolen  gold. 

Hilarius  held  his  breath  ;  it  was  as  if  she  did  to  death 

107 


THE    FRUIT 

some  living  thing,  and  yet  he  dared  not  bid  her  stay  her 
insolent  feet. 

It  was  done  ;  and  she  looked  at  him  under  questioning 
brows. 

"  So  much  for  thy  lihes  !  Dost  still  think  that  it  will 
soil  thy  brush  to  limn  such  an  one  as  I  ?  I,  whom  men 
call  the  Queen  of  Love — but  thy  lips,  say  they,  burnt 
with  another  name  !  Bethink  thee,  faint  heart,  there 
is  not  a  man  in  all  this  city  but  would  count  death  a 
small  price  to  pay  for  my  favours  ;  and  I  ask  of  thee 
one  little  service,  and  thou  shalt  name  thine  own  reward. 
Siu-ely  'tis  churlish  to  gainsay  !  " 

Her  voice  was  suddenly  sweet. 

Stooping,  she  gathered  to  her  the  destruction  she  had 
wrought,  fingering  the  fallen  petals  tenderly,  with  a  little 
sigh.  She  glanced  up  at  Hilarius  through  her  lashes' 
net.  "  Maybe  I  was  over  hasty,"  she  said  softly,  and  a 
sob  swelled  the  round  of  her  wonderful  throat — "  and 
yet  how  couldst  thou  call  me  wanton  ?  "  Her  mouth 
drooped  a  little — she  was  very  fair. 

"  Art  thou  still  minded  to  set  these  poor  pale  flowers 
against  the  roses  in  love's  garden  ?  For  I  love  thee," 
she  added,  and  then  suddenly  she  was  still. 

Hilarius  looked  from  the  dead  flowers  to  the  woman 
in  her  over-mastering  beauty,  and  all  at  once  the  passion 
that  lies  hid  in  the  heart  of  every  man  leapt  to  liis  lips. 
io8 


'  Her  voice  was  suddenly  sweet 


'  i^a^i  '(iwabiiMt  ^»vM  a:iio(i  ^bH  • 


1^" 


MARY'S    LILIES 

He  desired  this  woman  as  he  had  never  before  desired 
aught  in  all  the  world,  and  he  knew,  to  his  shame,  that 
she  was  his  for  the  asking.  The  blood  thudded  and  rang 
in  his  veins  ;  he  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  curve  of  her  neck 
and  the  radiance  of  her  sun-swept  hair.  He  stretched 
out  his  hands,  but  ere  he  could  speak  she  raised  a  wliite, 
terrified  face,  and  glanced  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Who  touched  me  ?  "  she  gasped,  her  voice  shrill 
with  fear,  "  who  touched  me  ?  "  And  she  sprang  to  her 
feet. 

There  was  no  one  :  the  two  shared  a  common  pallor 
as  they  stared  into  each  others'  eyes  across  the  dying 
lilies.  Hilarius  shrank  back  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  Clear  and  distinct  he  heard  the  Prior's 
voice  :  "  ^  light  woman — a  light  woman,'''' 

Then  the  Princess  said  hoarsely,  "  Go,  go  "  ;  and 
without  word  or  look  Hilarius  went. 

The  Prior  rose  from  his  knees  comforted.  He  had 
wrestled  with  the  devil  for  his  son's  soul,  and  knew  that 
he  had  prevailed. 


109 


CHAPTER  III 


OPEN  EYES  AT  THE   GATE 


Another  year  wrote  its  record  on  forest  and  field.  The 
weeks  passed ;  summer  sped  to  autumn,  the  ripe  corn 
bowed  to  the  sickle.  The  Convent's  lands  were  rich 
and  heavy,  virgin  soil  reclaimed  ;  and  the  Prior,  watch- 
ing the  last  great  wain  piled  high  with  wealth  of  golden 
treasure,  saw  the  porter  coming  to  him. 

Now  the  porter  was  stout,  short  of  breath,  and  of  a 
hasty  spirit ;  and  the  Prior  knew  something  was  amiss 
by  reason  of  his  hmTied  gait  and  wrathful  countenance. 

"  Domine,"  he  gasped,  "  Domine,  there  is  a  ragged 
man  at  the  gate,  a  vagabond  by  his  own  showing,  and 
he  craves  speech  of  thee.  I  bade  him  go  to  the  guest- 
house, but  he  will  not  budge,  and  hath  waited  already 
an  hour  despite  my " 

The  porter  stayed,  staring ;  he  spoke  to  the  wind  ; 
the  Prior  was  already  half-way  to  the  gate. 

"  This  my  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,"  sang  his 
heart.  The  porter,  afraid,  hasted  after  him  with  the 
keys,  and  had  scarce  time  to  do  his  office  ere  the  sun- 

IIO 


OPEN    EYES    AT    THE    GATE 

burnt  vagabond  was  clasped  in  the  Prior's  arms.  It 
was  a  harvesting  indeed. 

That  night  Hilarias  went  across  to  the  Prior's  house 
to  tell  the  tale  of  his  joiu-neyings.  He  found  him  seated 
in  a  great  oak  chair  by  the  open  window  ;  the  sky  was 
ablaze  with  starS;  and  the  flame  of  the  oil  lamp  jarred 
like  a  splash  of  yellow  paint  on  the  moonUght  which 
flooded  the  room ;  the  Prior's  eyes  smiled  measureless 
content,  and  the  murmured  "  Laus  Deo  "  of  his  lips 
voiced  the  gladness  of  his  heart.  Thus,  in  the  shelter  of 
peace  and  a  great  love,  Hilarius  told  his  tale,  while  the 
forest  waved  a  welcome  to  him  over  the  Monastery  wall, 
and  the  late  lilies  burned  white  in  the  garth  below. 

The  Prior  sat  with  his  chin  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  lad's  face,  pale  against  the  dark  wainscot ;  and 
Hilarius  told  of  his  journeyings,  and  all  that  befell,  even 
as  it  hath  been  recorded  in  this  chronicle ;  and  the 
Prior's  eyes  were  wet  as  he  heard  of  the  Httle  maid. 

"  And  then,  my  son  ?  "  said  the  Prior, 

"  Then,  my  Father,  I  companied  with  the  caravan 
folk  as  far  as  the  sea-coast ;  and,  leaving  them  there, 
went  overseas  in  the  train  of  my  lord  Bishop  Robert 
Walter  of  Norwich,  who  was  hasting  to  Rome.  He 
knew  thee,  my  Father,  and  bade  his  people  supply  my 
needs." 

"  Ay,  he  knows  me,"  said  the  Prior  briefly.     "  The 

III 


THE    FRUIT 

Lord  reward  him  according  to  his  works,  but  show  him 
mercy  forasmuch  as  he  had  compassion  on  my  son  !  " 

"  Then  saw  I  Rome,  my  Father,  that  great  and 
beaateoas  city  full  of  treasure  and  many  wonders  ;  only 
the  Holy  Father  I  did  not  see,  being  let.  Methinks 
life  in  that  country  is  as  one  long  pageant ;  but  I  marked 
that  great  hoHness  and  an  evil  hfe,  much  riches  and 
much  penury,  dwelt  there  side  by  side,  and  men  recked 
little  of  death  but  much  of  pleasure.  Then  one  bade 
me  go  to  Florence  an  I  would  be  a  hmner ;  therefore  I 
hasted  thither,  and  gave  my  last  coin  for  bread  as  I 
entered  the  city." 

The  Prior's  brows  contracted  ;  the  lad  had  seen  some 
schooHng. 

"  But  thou  didst  learn  to  be  a  limner,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Ay,  my  Father,  in  God's  time  :  at  first  I  must  herd 
goats  and  sell  melons  in  the  market-place  for  a  lump  of 
bread.  Day  by  day  I  strove  to  gain  enough  to  buy 
colours,  but  could  not,  for  the  Lord  sent  me  ever  a 
neighbour  poorer  than  myself.  Nevertheless  I  was  of 
good  courage,  knowing  the  Lord's  ways  are  not  as  ours  ; 
and  mindful  how  Brother  Ambrose  held  that  inasmuch 
as  the  Heavenly  City  is  laid  with  fair  colours  'twere  no 
sin  to  deem  that  a  man  may  limn  perfect  pictures  there, 
for  the  gift  is  from  the  Lord." 

"  My  son,  'tis  a  great  lesson  thou  hast  learnt,"  said 

112 


OPEN    EYES    AT    THE    GATE 

the  Prior,  "  for  the  Word  was  made  Flesh  ;  and  as 
Blessed  John  hath  it,  a  man  cannot  love  God  unseen,  if 
he  love  not  the  brother  whom  He  hath  given  him. 
What  next,  dear  lad  ?  " 

"  My  Father,  the  Lord  Himself  sent  a  messenger  to 
me.  One  day  a  great  limner,  the  Signor  Andrea  di 
Clone,  whom  men  call  d'Orcagna,  stayed  by  me  where 
I  stood  with  my  melons  in  the  shadow  of  the  Shepherd's 
Tower,  and  bade  me  follow  him  to  his  house,  for  he 
would  fain  use  me  for  an  angel's  head  in  the  great  Altar- 
piece  he  was  e'en  then  concerned  with  for  the  Church 
of  the  White  Friars.  Later  he  heard  my  story  ;  and 
when  he  found  I  had  some  small  skill  with  the  brush 
he  kept  me  with  him,  and  taught  me  as  only  such  an 
one  can  teach  :  him  I  served  five  years.  And  many 
times  Satan  desired  my  soul ;  nay,  once  I  was  in  peril 
of  hell-fire,  but  the  Lord  was  with  me  and  plucked 
my  feet  out  of  the  pit.  But  of  that  I  will  speak  anon, 
at  my  shriving,  as  is  meet." 

The  Prior  remembered  his  dream,  but  he  said  no  word 
and  Hilarius  took  up  liis  tale. 

"  Then  one  day  my  master  cried  there  was  an  end  to 
teaching  ;  nevertheless  he  would  have  me  bide  with  him 
in  honour  for  the  work.  But  my  heart  was  full  of  longing 
for  home  and  the  scent  of  the  forest ;  and,  above  all, 
for  thee,  my  Father ;  therefore  I  set  my  face  north, 
H  113 


THE    FRUIT 

that  I  might  bring  back  my  gift  to  St  Benedict  and  our 
Church ;  and  should  have  been  here  long  ere  this,  but 
I  was  let  by  the  way." 

The  Prior  looked  up  a  little  anxiously,  and  Hilarius 
smiled  at  the  question  in  his  face. 

"  'Tis  a  lawless  tract,  my  Father,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  great  mountains  beyond  Florence  ;  and  I  was 
taken  by  robbers,  w^ho  bore  me  and  others  of  our 
company  to  their  fastness  in  the  hills  :  there  I  lay  in 
a  little  cave  many  days  ;  but  what  befell  the  rest  I 
know  not.  The  robbers  brought  me  forth  to  serve 
them,  and  by  God's  mercy  handled  me  kindly,  though 
they  thought  little  of  blood- shedding. 

"  Then  one  of  them  was  troubled  in  his  spirit,  and 
minded  to  forsake  this  evil  manner  of  life.  Therefore 
one  night  he  fled,  carrying  me  with  him,  when  the  others 
had  gone  forth  ;  and  we  made  good  our  way  to  Mantua. 
There  Pietro,  for  so  was  the  robber  called,  left  me  that 
he  might  give  himself  to  the  service  of  God  and  men, 
inasmuch  as  he  had  formerly  abused  them.  Never  saw 
I  man  so  changed,  my  Father ;  his  speech,  formerly 
profane,  was  all  of  God  and  the  Saints  ;  he  did  penance 
and  confessed  liis  sins  publicly ;  ay,  by  the  Justice's 
orders  he  received  one  hundred  lashes  in  the  market- 
place, and  at  every  lash  he  cried  with  upturned  face, 
'  Deo  Gratias  !  '     And  I  was  there,  because  he  besought 

114 


OPEN    EYES    AT    THE    GATE 

of  me  to  stand  in  the  crowd  and  pray  for  him  that  his 
courage  failed  not.  But  it  came  to  pass  that  the  people 
marvelled  at  his  joyful  endurance ;  and  indeed  'twas 
more  like  a  scourging  of  one  of  the  blessed  martyrs 
than  of  a  poor  sinful  robber.  After  this  the  Brothers 
of  the  Poor  took  him,  for  such  was  his  desire ;  and  so 
I  bade  him  farewell,  and  craved  his  blessing." 

"  The  Lord  fulfil  all  his  mind  !  "  said  the  Prior  with 
clasped  hands. 

"  Amen,"  said  Hilarius. 

"  Didst  thou  not  fear  to  journey  further  alone,  my 
son  ?  " 

"  Nay,  my  Father,  I  found  for  the  most  part  good 
and  kindly  men  by  the  way,  despite  their  somewhat 
evil  seeming ;  but  at  Genoa  I  took  service  with  a 
merchant  then  beginning  his  journey,  and  travelled 
with  him  through  Flanders,  a  strange,  flat  country  with 
many  canals  and  tall  poplar  trees ;  and  so  we  came  to 
Bruges  in  safety,  after  a  most  prosperous  course.  There 
he  commended  me  to  a  good  friend  of  his,  a  wool 
merchant  travelling  to  Salisbury  ;  and  at  first  all  things 
went  well  with  us  ;  but  later  the  winds  proved  contrary, 
and  we  were  driven  hither  and  tliither  in  great  peril  of 
our  lives,  but  at  last  made  the  Bristol  Channel,  and  so 
came  safe  into  port.  Thence  I  have  come  hither  afoot 
begging  my  bread." 

115 


THE    FRUIT 

Wlien  Hilarius  had  made  an  end,  the  Prior  took  him 
in  his  arms  and  blessed  him  for  his  dear  son ;  praising 
God  that  the  lad  had  come  back  a  child  at  heart,  but 
hungering,  lo^dng,  open-eyed. 

Next  morning,  being  shriven,  Hilarius  ate  the  bread 
and  drank  the  wine  of  the  "  wayfaring  man,"  his  heart 
merry  for  the  joy  of  his  home-coming.  When  the  Lady- 
Mass  was  ended  he  knelt  on  in  her  Chapel. 

"  Great  Light  of  Love,  all  praise  and  thanks  be  thine 
from  thy  poor  son,"  sang  his  heart ;  and  then  he  prayed 
for  his  Uttle  maid. 


ii6 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PASSING  OF  PRIOR  STEPHEN 

The  convent  welcomed  Hilarius  gladly,  and  on  the 
Feast  of  St  Michael  he  made  his  profession,  for  the 
Prior  deemed  that  he  had  served  his  noviciate  and  been 
found  faithful ;  and  the  Brethern  assented  eagerly,  for 
they  were  fain  to  keep  this  wondrous  limner  for  the 
service  of  their  own  Church. 

Then,  by  the  Prior's  command,  Hilarius  set  himself 
to  limn  a  great  picture  for  the  High  Altar.  It  was  a 
Crucifixion,  and  all  his  heart  and  all  his  love  were  in  it. 
When  the  Brethren  first  saw  the  fair  proportion  and  fine 
coloiu-s  that  Hilarius  brought  to  the  work,  they  rejoiced 
in  that  their  Church  should  be  glorified  above  other 
Churches  of  the  Order  ;  but  when  the  picture  was  near 
completing,  and  they  gazed  up  into  the  wondrous  face 
of  the  Great  King  who  looked  down  from  the  throne  of 
His  triumphant  suffering,  with  a  world  of  hunger  and  love 
in  His  eyes  for  those  who  had  so  enthroned  Him,  they 
hung  their  heads  for  shame  because  of  the  emulation 
in  their  hearts  ;  and  lo  !  the  Cellarer,  for  very  love,  was 

117 


THE    FRUIT 

careful  for  the  needs  of  the  elder  Brethren ;  and  the 
monks,  for  very  love,  laid  hold  gladly  of  suffering,  and 
so  the  Convent  was  blessed,  and  lived  together  in  unity. 

In  one  of  the  groups  very  near  the  Cross,  Hilariiis  set 
a  grey-eyed  girl,  a  woman  with  a  babe  at  the  breast,  and> 
clinging  to  her  skirts,  a  little  flaxen-headed  maid.  None 
bat  the  Prior  knew  the  meaning  of  these  three,  and 
their  names,  with  that  of  a  poor  light-o'-love,  were  ever 
on  his  lips  when  he  offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice. 

Gentle  Brother  Hilarius  painted  and  loved,  and  was 
beloved  of  all  his  world.  The  years  sped,  and  he  became 
in  turn  Almoner,  No\'ice-master,  and  Sub-Prior :  and 
no  man  envied  him,  for  he  reckoned  himself  ever  as 
least  of  all  and  servant  of  all. 

Prior  Stephen  attained  his  fourscore  years,  ruling  the 
Convent  wisely  and  well  to  the  very  end;  ay,  and  never 
ailed  aught,  his  call  coming  as  it  might  be  straight  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Lord. 

On  the  Feast  of  Blessed  Stephen  he  went  into  the 
chapter  and  said  as  always  :  "  The  souls  of  the  deceased 
brethren  and  believers  rest  in  peace .' "  to  which  the 
Convent  replied,  "  Ameny  Then  with  his  hands  raised 
to  bless  he  cried,  "  Benedicite,^''  and  again  with  loud  and 
joyful  voice  "  Domine,''''  and  again  "  Domine  !  "  as  of 
one  who  answers  to  his  name — and  so  passed  to  his 
place  in  the  Kingdom  of  Christ. 
ii8 


PASSING    OF    PRIOR    STEPHEN 

The  Convent  elected  Hilarius  to  be  Prior  in  his  stead, 
which  election  the  Abbat  of  Cluny  confirmed  vnih.  good 
grace. 

Time  passed,  and  the  fame  of  the  Monastery  grew 
because  of  the  exceeding  beauty  of  the  Church,  for 
Hilarius,  with  those  whom  he  taught,  set  fair  pictures 
on  the  walls,  and  blazoned  the  roof  with  the  blue  of 
heaven  and  gold  of  the  wakeful  stars.  In  the  span  over 
the  High  Altar  he  set  Blessed  Benedict  himself  with 
the  face  of  Prior  Stephen,  and  round  him  the  angel 
virtues ;  even  as  one  Giotto,  a  shepherd  lad,  had 
limned  them  in  the  Church  of  the  Little  Brothers. 

Now  Prior  Hilarius  desired  greatly  to  set  a  picture 
of  Our  Lady  above  the  Altar  in  her  Chapel.  Long  did 
he  pray  with  ever  increasing  fervour  and  much  fasting 
that  this  boon  might  be  vouchsafed  him  for  her  glory 
and  the  Convent's  greater  good.  And  one  day — 'twas 
her  Nativity — he  set  his  hand  to  the  work,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  she  would  have  it  so  ;  and  he  was  greatly 
humbled  that  such  heavenly  kindness  should  attend  so 
vile  a  sinner.  Day  by  day  he  set  apart  some  hours  for 
this  service ;  and  he  limned  a  face  so  fair  and  radiant, 
with  woman's  love  and  light  of  heaven,  that  it  was 
whispered  in  the  cloister  walks  that  the  Prior  had  surely 
been  blessed  by  a  vision,  else  had  he  never  pictured  the 
Maid-Mother  in  so  wondrous  a  fashion  :   and  of  a  truth 

119 


THE    FRUIT 

a  man  might  well  give  credence  to  such  a  story,  for  the 
joy  that  shone  in  the  Prior's  eyes  and  might  not  be  hid. 

Many  other  tales  did  the  Brethren  tell  of  Hilarius, 
but  softly,  for  he  would  hear  no  word  of  his  own  deeds 
or  the  favours  vouchsafed  him. 

When  he  walked  in  the  garth  the  pigeons  circled  round 
him  crooning  their  peace-note  ;  and  it  was  told  that  the 
kine  in  the  meadows  ceased  browsing  when  he  passed, 
and  needs  must  company  with  him  a  little  way. 

Once  it  befell  that  a  lay-brother  was  afflicted  with 
heavy  sickness  by  reason  of  the  sun's  great  heat ;  and 
Satan  strove  with  him  for  his  undoing,  so  that  the  poor 
soul  foamed  at  the  mouth  and  roared  out  blasphemy ; 
yea,  verily,  and  must  be  held  with  cords  also,  lest  he  do 
himself  or  liis  fellows  some  grievous  hurt.  But  when 
the  Prior  laid  his  hand  between  the  man's  troubled  eyes 
sweet  sleep  came  upon  him,  and  his  madness  forsook 
him. 

The  poor  also  crowded  to  the  Monastery  gate  and 
were  fed,  ay,  even  if  the  Brethren  went  hungry  ;  and  if 
any  man  in  all  the  villages  round  had  aught  against 
his  neighbour  he  would  come  to  the  Prior  for  a  just 
hearing. 

Nevertheless,  despite  these  things  the  Convent's 
peace  began  to  be  troubled.  Men  sought  the  Monastery 
for  its  famous  name,  caring  but  little  for  religion  ;  there 

120 


'  The  poor  also  crowded  to  the  Monastery  gate 

and  were  fed,  ay,  even  if  the  Brethren 

went  hungry  ' 


«!i^i\V^nQ.  ^\U  \s  u'^M'j  ,'(_J)  ,\->'i\  a^!i*aj  \Mm 


PASSING    OF    PRIOR    STEPHEN 

were  many  young  novices  within  its  walls,  and  the  strong 
hand  of  Prior  Stephen  was  lacking.  Hilarius  was  of 
gentler  build ;  he  would  speak  ever  in  love,  thinking 
no  evil,  whereas  it  is  not  given  to  all  men  to  understand 
that  tongue.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  the  younger 
Brethren  waxed  fat  and  kicked,  and  the  elder  Brethren 
murmured. 


121 


CHAPTER  V 

"  GABRIEL,  MAKE  THIS  MAN  TO  UNDERSTAND 
THE    VISION." — DAN.    viii.    16 

One  day  the  No\'ice-master,  Brother  Adam,  a  most 
worthy  man,  came  in  sore  trouble  to  the  Prior  and 
would  resign  his  office. 

"  Surely  never  before  did  such  an  ill-conditioned 
brood  find  shelter  in  a  monastery  !  "  he  cried.  "  They 
grow  fat,  idle,  insolent,  quarrelsome — ^never  at  peace 
among  themselves  ;  never  a  Pater  or  an  Ave  too  many, 
or  a  task  fulfilled,  save  for  fear  of  stripes.  I  would  that 
the  time  of  blood-letting  were  here  that  their  high 
stomachs  might  be  brought  low.  I  am  no  longer  young, 
my  Father,  and  this  burden  tries  me  sorely.  Prithee, 
let  it  be  shifted  to  another  and  a  stronger  back." 

The  Prior  listened  with  many  an  inward  mea  culpa. 
"  'Tis  a  sad  hearing,  Brother  Adam,  but  young  blood 
is  hard  of  mastering ;  maybe  this  ill  mood  will  pass. 
The  lad  Robert  is  surely  ever  gentle  and  decorous  ? 
He  hath  a  most  beauteous  voice." 

The  Novice-master  threw  up  his  hands. 

122 


MAKE    THIS    MAN    UNDERSTAND 

"  Nay,  Father,  nay,  he  hath  indeed  the  voice  of  an 
angel,  but  methinks  his  body  is  surely  the  habitation 
of  Satan.  He  will  sing  an  it  please  him — or  when  thou 
art  by,  my  Father, — but,  an  it  please  him  not,  he  is 
silent ;  ay,  even  under  grievous  stripes.  The  Precentor 
giveth  him  as  negligent  and  ill-conditioned ;  and  in 
choir,  when  he  looketh  most  like  to  one  of  God's 
Saints,  he  is  but  plotting  mischief  for  the  day." 

The  Prior  heard  him  sadly. 

"  And  Hubert  ?  "  he  said.  "  Hubert,  methinks,  hath 
a  great  love  of  colour  and  a  fine  hand  with  the  brush. 

Brother  Adam  was  almost  speechless. 

"  Hubert !  Nay,  Father,  forgive  me,  Father,  but 
even  this  very  Hubert  but  yesterday  shpped  a  handful 
of  pebbles  into  Brother  Edmund's  mess,  whereby  he 
was  like  to  break  his  teeth  or  take  some  more  grievous 
hurt.  And  indeed  the  peace  of  the  Brethren  is  much 
troubled,  wherefore  they  complain  bitterly." 

"  Young  blood,  young  blood,  but  not  of  necessity 
evil,"  said  the  Prior.  Then,  seeing  the  Novice-master's 
aggrieved  face,  he  bade  him  have  patience  yet  a  little, 
for  he  himself  would  speak  to  the  no\dces  ;  and  with  this 
Brother  Adam  must  fain  be  content. 

The  next  day  in  the  Chapter  the  Prior  spoke. 
It  comes  to  pass  oftentimes  that  men  seeing  a  sign 

123 


THE    FRUIT 

are  made  curious  by  it ;  and  then  forgetting,  find  the  chie 
thereto,  it  may  be,  long  after.  Even  thus  it  happened 
on  this  day  in  the  Chapter  ;  and  when  Prior  Hilarius  was 
gathered  to  his  rest  the  Brethren  remembered  how  they 
had  marked  and  marvelled  at  the  strange  beauty  of  his 
face,  the  beauty  as  of  one  who  sees  the  face  of  the  Lord. 

"  My  children,"  he  said — "  for  my  children  ye  are, 
though  I  see  among  you  many  it  were  more  fitting  I 
should  hail  as  father,  but  that  the  ruling  of  the  Lord 
cannot  be  gainsaid — my  children,  I  am  minded  to  think 
that  I  have  this  day  a  message  on  my  lips  that  is  not 
mine  own. 

"  Last  night  a  vision  came  to  me  as  I  slept.  Blessed 
Benedict,  our  Father,  stood  at  my  side,  and  his  face 
was  troubled. 

"  '  Arise,  my  son,'  he  cried,  '  arise,  for  the  Lord  is  at 
hand  and  hath  need  of  thee.' 

"  And  I,  deeming  it  was  of  judgment  that  he  spake, 
sprang  up  in  shame  and  fear  that  the  Master  should  find 
me  sleeping. 

"  Then  cried  Blessed  Benedict  again  : — 

"  '  If  thou  wilt  serve  the  Lord,  make  haste,  for  He 
hath  called  thee  these  many  times,'  and  so  saying  passed 
from  my  sight. 

"  Brethren,  I  went  forth  as  one  bewildered,  and  made 
haste  to  the  Church  lest  peradventare  I  should  find  Him  ; 
124 


MAKE    THIS    MAN     UNDERSTAND 

but  the  lamps  burnt  dim  and  all  was  silent.  Then  I 
turned  aside  and  went  out  into  the  night,  and  it  was 
very  dark,  with  no  sound  but  the  wind  in  the  forest 
trees. 

"  My  heart  was  a-hungered,  and  I  sought  in  cloister 
and  garth ;  and  as  I  hasted  to  the  gate  I  cried  aloud, 
even  as  she  cried  who  sought  Him  in  a  garden — '  They 
have  taken  away  my  Lord.' 

"  At  the  gate  I  stayed  me,  and  besought  the  Lord  for 
a  sign ;  and  lo,  in  the  darkness  one  came  and  led  me 
by  the  hand  away  from  the  gate,  across  the  garth 
and  up  the  dormitory  stair,  nor  loosed  me  until  I 
passed  within  where  the  Brethren  lay  sleeping,  and 
the  chamber  was  bright  with  exceeding  radiance. 

"  I  found  myself  by  the  pallet  of  my  dear  son  Robert : 
his  face  was  wet  with  tears  ;  and  as  he  lay  I  saw  upon 
his  shoulder  the  mark  of  many  stripes. 

"  Again,  one  took  my  hand  and  led  me  from  one  to 
another  of  our  Brethren,  and  on  every  face  lay  the 
shadow  of  a  great  need,  but  in  every  face  there  was 
somewhat  of  the  Christ ;  and  the  lesson  burnt  in  my 
heart. 

"  Then  One  came  swiftly  and  laid  healing  hands  on 
the  boy  Robert ;  but  I  fled,  for  I  might  not  see  Him  ; 
and  I  awoke  sore  troubled — ay,  and  the  trouble  is  on 
me  still. 

125 


THE    FRUIT 

"  My  Brethren,  I  can  but  tell  the  vision  as  it  came 
to  me.  Great  is  the  rule  of  Benedict,  our  Father,  and 
in  it  stripes,  grievous  and  many  as  our  sins,  have  their 
rightful  place ;  but  mayhap  we  forget  that  love,  and 
love  alone,  should  strike.  Ay,  and  I  mind  me  how 
Prior  Stephen,  my  Father,  said  that  to  be  monk  a  man 
must  learn  before  all  things  to  hunger  and  to  love. 
Love  should  draw  the  water  and  build  the  fire,  till  the 
field  and  attend  the  sanctuary  ;  and  hunger  we  should 
cherish  in  our  hearts,  hunger  for  righteousness  and  for 
the  souls  of  our  brethren,  for  this  is  the  hunger  of  God. 

"  Men  come  over  lightly  to  the  Lord's  work ;  and 
lo  !  pride  and  emulation,  jealousy  and  discontent,  spring 
up  and  thrive,  and  the  end  is  shame  and  confusion. 

"  I  speak  as  to  my  children ;  it  is  in  my  heart  that 
the  Lord  is  at  hand  :  let  us  see  that  we  love  while 
there  is  yet  time." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  novices  and  stretched  out  his 
hands  to  where  they  stood  amazed,  and  it  may  be 
ashamed — not  after  this  manner  w^as  Brother  Adam 
wont  to  rebuke  them. 

"  And  ye,  who  are,  as  it  were,  the  babes  of  our  Order, 
give  heed  to  your  ways,  neither  bring  unwilUng  hands 
to  this  service.  Better  far  go  forth,  yea,  even  to  death, 
than  mock  the  Lord  with  froward  feet  and  a  heart  that 
is  full  of  vanity.  Remember  the  sacrifice  which  Cain 
126 


MAKE    THIS    MAN    UNDERSTAND 

offered  and  the  Lord  rejected,  for  he  gainsay ed  the 
voice  of  the  Lord  and  disobeyed  His  Commandment ; 
wherefore  the  wrath  of  God  fell  upon  him. 

"  I,  who  speak  now,  speak  in  love ;  give  ear  to  my 
words,  and  let  fear  befriend  you  ;  for  the  coming  of  the 
Lord  is  as  a  thief  in  the  night,  and  lo  !  stripes  bitter 
and  many  await  that  servant  whom  the  Master  finds 
sleeping." 

Then  the  Prior,  having  made  an  end  of  speaking, 
raised  his  hands  to  bless,  and  went  forth  in  silence ; 
and  no  man  stirred  in  his  place,  for  they  knew  that  the 
Lord  had  spoken  and  were  afraid. 


127 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  HUNGER  OF  DICKON  THE  WOODMAN 

June  was  at  an  end,  and  men  cried  aloud  for  rain.  The 
hedges  were  white,  the  fields  scorched  and  brown ;  the 
leaves  fell  from  the  trees  as  at  autumn's  touch ;  the 
fruits  scarce  formed  hung  wry  and  twisted  on  the 
bough ;    the  heavens  burnt  pitiless,  without  a  cloud. 

Dickon,  the  woodman,  sat  by  the  wayside  gnawing 
a  crust  and  a  scrap  of  mouldy  bacon.  There  was  no 
sound  but  the  howl  of  a  dog  from  some  neighbouring 
farmstead,  and  he  sat  in  sullen  mood,  his  billhook  beside 
liim,  brooding  over  his  wrongs  ;  for  the  world  had  gone 
contrary  with  him. 

His  wife  was  dead ;  she  had  died  in  childbed  a 
month  gone,  leaving  six  hungry  naked  brats  on  his 
shoulders  ;  and  now  a  worse  thing  had  befallen  him ; 
his  gold  was  gone — ^his  gold  to  which  he  had  no  right, 
for  'twas  blood-money,  the  food  of  his  children,  ay, 
and  something  beside ;  but  Dickon  loved  the  gold 
piece  above  all  the  world — above  Heaven  and  his  own 
soul — and  it  was  gone. 
128 


THE    HUNGER    OF    DICKON 

A  neighbour  had  surely  done  it ;  marked  the  hiding- 
place  which  he  had  deemed  so  safe,  and  made  off  with 
the  prize  ;  and  i'  faith  'twas  easy  carrying.  There  was 
but  one  piece,  and  Dickon  minded  how  he  had  changed 
his  petty  hoard  to  gold  scarce  a  month  back  at  the 
fair.  Maybe  it  was  Thomas  the  charcoal  burner  had 
served  him  this  ill  turn ;  or  William  Crookleg  the 
miller's  man ;  he  was  a  sly,  prying  fellow,  and  there 
had  been  ill  blood  between  them. 

He  was  fain  to  seek  the  Monastery  that  lay  the  other 
side  the  forest,  and  crave  justice  of  the  Prior,  but  that 
the  Prior  might  say  'twas  ill-got  gain  and  well  rid  of. 

Dickon  rose  to  his  feet  and  scrambled  homewards  ; 
he  was  ragged,  ill-fed,  unkempt.  The  day's  work  was 
done,  and  on  the  village  green  he  found  men  and 
women,  for  the  most  part  as  ill-clad  as  himself,  stand- 
ing about  in  groups  gossiping.  The  innkeeper  lounged 
at  the  ale-house  door,  thin  and  peaked  as  his  fellows  ; 
there  was  no  good  living  for  any  man  in  those  parts, 
by  reason  of  the  over-lord  who  sore  oppressed  them. 

A  little  man,  keen-eyed  and  restless,  holding  a  lean 
and  sorry  horse  by  the  bridle,  was  talking  eagerly. 

"  Nay,  'tis  true  eno',  and  three  crows  saw  I  this  very 
day  on  the  churchyard  wall — it  bodes  ill  to  some  of 
us." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  innkeeper,  "  have  it  thine  own 
I  129 


THE    FRUIT 

way.  Methinks  the  ill  hath  outrun  the  omen,  for  there 
will  be  naught  for  man  or  beast  shortly — but  fine 
pickings  for  thy  three  crows." 

The  little  man  scowled  at  him  :  Dickon  came  up. 

"  WTiat's  to  do  ?  "  he  said  curtly. 

"  Nay,"  said  mine  host,  "  Robin  will  have  it  that 
some  further  evil  is  upon  us — tho'  methinks  we  have 
got  our  fiU  and  to  spare  with  this  drought — ay,  and 
'twas  at  thy  house,  Dickon,  he  saw  the  corpse-light." 

"  Better  a  corpse-hght  than  six  open  mouths,  and 
naught  to  fill  them,"  said  Dickon  surhly.  "  Whither 
away,  Robin  ?     'Tis  not  far  this  beast  -vviU  travel." 

"  Right  thou  art,  but  my  master  will  turn  an  honest 
penny  with  the  carcass,"  answered  the  little  man ; 
*'  give  me  my  reckoning,  friend  John.  I  must  needs 
haste  if  I  would  see  the  Forester's  ere  nightfall." 

He  pulled  out  a  few  small  coins  and  a  gold  piece. 
When  Dickon  saw  it  his  eyes  gleamed.  Robin  paid 
the  reckoning  and  put  the  piece  in  his  cheek. 

"  Hard-earned  money — 'tis  blood  out  of  a  stone  to 
draw  wages  from  my  master.  Better  it  should  light  in 
my  belly  than  in  a  rogue's  pocket.  'Tis  as  well  for  me 
that  John  o'  th'  Smft-foot  swings  at  the  crossroads. 
Godden,  my  masters  !  "  And  leading  his  weary  beast, 
he  took  the  road  that  skirted  the  forest. 

The  moon  was  at  full,  and  he  had  yet  a  good  stretch 

130 


THE    HUNGER    OF    DICKON 

of  lonely  way  before  him,  when  the  horse  stumbled 
and  fell  and  would  not  rise. 

"  A  murrain  on  the  beast !  "  muttered  Robin  angrily, 
tugging  in  vain  at  the  creature  on  whom  death  had 
taken  pity.  "  I  must  e'en  leave  him  by  the  wayside 
and  tell  Richard  what  hath  befallen." 

He  stooped  to  loose  the  halter,  and  as  he  bent  to  his 
task  a  man  slipped  from  the  shadow  of  the  hedge  into 
the  quiet  moonlight.  There  was  a  thud,  a  dull  cry,  and 
Robin  fell  prone  across  the  horse's  neck — a  pace  beyond 
him  in  the  moonlight  shone  the  gleam  of  gold. 

Next  day  Dickon's  child  died,  ay,  and  the  other 
five  followed  with  scant  time  between  the  buryings. 
Another  had  fathered  them  and  filled  the  gaping 
mouths  ;  but  men  shuddered  at  his  care,  for  it  was  the 
Black  Death  that  they  had  deemed  far  from  them. 

Pale  and  woebegone  they  clustered  on  the  green. 
News  had  come  of  Robin — he  was  dead  when  they 
found  him — but  no  man  gave  heed.  Death  was  in  the 
air,  death  held  them  safe  in  walls  they  might  not 
scale.  The  heavens  were  brass,  food  failed  for  man 
and  beast,  God  and  man  alike  had  forsaken  them. 
The  forest  lay  one  side,  the  river,  now  but  a  shallow, 
sluggish  stream,  lay  the  other  ;  'twas  a  cleft  stick  and 
the  springe  tightened. 

No  evil  had  as  yet  befallen  Dickon.     He  stood  with 

131 


THE    FRUIT 

the  rest  and  murmured,  cursing.  All  at  once  he  made 
for  the  ale-house. 

"  Fools  that  we  are  to  stand  Hke  helpless  brats  when 
there  is  liquor  enough  and  to  spare  in  yon  cellars.  He 
who  is  minded  to  go  dry  throat  to  Heaven  had  best 
make  haste ;  for  me  I  will  e'en  swill  a  bucket  to  the 
devil's  health,  and  so  to  hell." 

Half-a-dozen  men  followed  him,  pusliing  aside  mine 
host  who  strove  to  bar  the  door.  Some  of  the  women 
fell  on  their  knees  and  clamoured  in  half  dehrious 
prayer ;  the  rest  slunk  dismayed  to  their  pestilent 
homes. 


132 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  VISION   OF  THE  EVENING  AND   THE  MORNING 

Meanwhile,  news  came  to  the  Monastery  of  the  ill 
case  of  the  village,  for  it  lay  scarce  a  league  away  across 
the  forest ;  but  the  pine-trees  stood  as  guardian  angels 
in  between. 

The  Prior  summoned  the  whole  Convent,  according 
to  the  ruHng  of  Blessed  Benedict  when  the  matter  is 
a  grave  one,  and  told  the  tidings. 

Then  he  went  on  to  give  reason  for  their  assembling. 

"  My  Brethren,  it  is  in  my  heart  that  we  dare  not 
leave  these  poor,  stricken  sheep  to  die  alone  mthout 
shepherding ;  moreover,  in  their  fear  and  desolation, 
they  may  flee  to  other  villages,  and  so  the  terror  and 
pest  spread  ever  further.  And  I  deem  that,  inasmuch 
as  Charity  is  greater  than  Faith  or  Hope,  so  it  is  greater 
than  obedience  also.  Wherefore  I  purpose  to  set  aside 
the  Rule  of  our  Order  in  the  letter  that  I  may  hold  to 
it  in  the  spirit,  and  go  forth  to  serve  these  perishing 
brethren ;  and  I  will  take  with  me  whosoever  hears 
the  call  of  God  in  this  visitation." 

133 


THE    FRUIT 

When  lie  had  made  an  end,  there  was  silence  in  the 
Chapter.  Break  cloister,  the  Prior  himself  urging  them 
thereto  ?     The  Convent  might  scarce  credit  its  ears. 

Prior  Hilarius  watched  his  cliildren  with  a  tender 
smile  on  his  white  face,  and  a  prayer  on  his  lips  that 
love  might  have  its  triumph. 

Five  monks  stood  up,  among  them  the  Sub-Prior, 
and  seven  novices  sprang  also  to  their  feet. 

"  Nay,  Brother  Walter,"  said  Hilarius,  turning  to 
the  Sub-Prior,  "  this  flock  must  have  its  shepherd  also  ; 
thy  place  is  here.  But  I  will  take  with  me  Brother 
Simon  and  Brother  Leo,  who  will  doubtless  suffice  at 
first  for  the  ministry,  and — "  smiling  at  the  no\dces — 
"  all  these  dear  lads  to  tend  the  sick  and  bury  the 
dead." 

The  Sub-Prior  ventured  on  a  remonstrance. 

"  Good  Father,  it  is  not  fitting  that  thou  should'st 
go  on  such  an  errand  ;  send  me  in  thy  stead,  for  my  life 
is  a  small  thing  as  compared  vnth  thine.  IMoreover 
these  novices,  'tis  but  the  other  day  the  Master  ga^  e 
them  as  lazy  and  ill-conditioned,  and " 

The  Prior  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Dear  Brother,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  and  care 
for  me ;  but  my  call  has  come.  As  for  these — "  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  towards  the  waiting  no\dces — 
"  maybe  they  are  in  the  wrong  school,  and  the  Lord 

134 


THE  EVENING  AND  MORNING 

hath  even  opened  the  door  that  they  may  serve  Him, 
perchance  die  for  Him,  elsewhere.  And  shall  I  count 
myself  wiser  than  Prior  Stephen,  who  set  me  without 
the  gate  to  learn  my  lesson  ?  Let  us  go  in  peace,  my 
children,  for  we  are  about  the  Lord's  business." 

Very  early  next  day,  having  eaten  of  Heavenly 
manna,  the  little  band  embraced  their  brethren  and 
set  out,  laden  with  food  and  wine  and  herbs  from  the 
farmery ;  and  the  Prior  appointed  a  place  to  which 
the  Convent  should  send  daily  all  things  needed. 

The  shade  of  the  forest  was  very  welcome  in  the  hot, 
breathless  sunshine,  and  the  scent  of  the  pine-needles, 
odorous,  pungent,  rose  at  each  footfall  from  the  silent 
path.  The  Brethren  chanted  the  Gradual  Psalms  as 
they  paced  two  and  two  through  the  sun-lit  aisles,  full 
of  the  Prior's  memories  ;  and  he  looked  up  again  to  see 
Our  Lady's  robe  across  the  tree-tops.  Then  all  at  once 
the  Psalm  broke,  and  Brother  Simon,  who  was  leading, 
stayed  suddenly. 

Under  a  bush  beside  the  track  lay  a  man,  naked  save 
for  filthy  rags  ;  his  hair  and  beard  matted  with  moss 
and  leaves  ;  his  eyes  sunk,  his  lips  drawn  apart  in  a 
ghastly  grin.  Hilarius  made  haste  to  kneel  beside  him, 
and  lo  !  sudden  remembrance  lighted  the  fast-glazing 
eyes,  but  his  own  answered  not. 

135 


THE    FRUIT 

"  My  son,  my  son,"  said  the  Prior,  and  his  voice  was 
very  pitiful,  "  thou  art  indeed  in  evil  case  ;  let  me 
shrive  thee  ere  it  be  too  late." 

He  motioned  the  others  to  stand  back,  and  raising 
the  heavy  head  upon  his  shoulder,  bent  close  to  catch 
the  whisper  of  the  parched  lips. 

At  first  no  sound  came,  and  then  a  hoarse  word 
reached  him. 

"  The  Convent's  hens  !  " 

The  Prior  stared  amazed ;  then  once  more  the 
laboured  voice — 

"  Hast  forgot  thy  theft,  and  the  dancer  ?  " 

Hilarius  needed  no  further  word ;  in  a  moment  the 
years  were  wiped  away. 

"  Lad,  lad,  to  find  thee  again,  and  in  such  sorry 
plight !  But  see,  stay  not  thy  shriving,  for  the  time  is 
short,  and  the  Lord  ever  ready  to  pardon." 

The  man  strove  in  vain  to  speak.  At  last  he  said 
quite  clearly  :    "  I  hunger,"  and  so  saying  died. 

The  Prior  was  greatly  moved,  and  for  a  while  he 
knelt  in  prayer,  while  the  Brethren,  amazed,  waited 
his  pleasure.  Then  he  rose,  and  lo  !  before  liim  lay 
the  open  glade  where  his  schooHng  had  begun,  and 
he  had  seen  a  flower  incarnate  dance  in  the  wind. 

He  bade  them  lift  the  dead,  and  lay  him  in  the  hollow 
of  the  glade  under  fallen  branches,  until  they  could 
136 


THE    EVENING    AND    MORNING 

return  and  give  him  burial.  Then,  as  they  went  on 
their  way,  he  told  the  tale  of  his  little  maid  ;  and  when 
the  telling  was  ended,  the  village  they  had  come  to 
succour  was  in  sight,  and  lo  !  they  saw  it  through  a 
mist. 


137 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"  BEHOLD    THE    FIELDS    ARE    WHITE  " 

The  Prior's  heart  was  ready,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
as  he  passed  up  the  village  and  saw  the  huddled, 
helpless  people,  that  his  httle  maid  led  him  by  the 
hand. 

Brother  Simon,  Brother  Leo,  and  the  novices  turned 
aside  to  speak  comfort  and  carry  succour  to  the  sick 
and  fearful,  and  to  bury  the  dead  ;  for  three  unshriven 
souls  had  passed  to  judgment  and  mercy.  Hilarius 
made  straight  for  the  ale-house. 

As  he  crossed  the  green,  the  door  opened  and  Dickon 
stumbled  bHndly  down  the  steps.  At  sight  of  a  monk 
he  cried  out,  and,  suddenly  sobered,  dropped  on  his 
knees,  while  the  topers  and  roysterers  staring  from  the 
open  doorway  fell  into  silence. 

Hilarius  pushed  back  his  cowl  and  stood  bareheaded 
in  the  scorching  sun  of  that  windless  day ;  it  came  to 
his  mind  that  he  was  very  weary. 

"  Hear,  0  my  children,  the  Lord  hath  sent  me  to 
succour  you,  lest  ye  go  down  quick  into  the  pit.     Return 
138 


THE    FIELDS    ARE    WHITE 

every  one  of  you,  for  the  arms  of  His  love  are  still 
stretched  wide  upon  the  Rood,  and  the  very  hairs  of 
your  head  are  numbered.  Repent  ye,  therefore,  and 
confess  each  one  of  you  his  sins,  that  I  may  prepare 
him  for  the  work  of  the  Lord  ;  and  take  comfort  also, 
for  they  that  are  with  us  are  mighty." 

One  by  one  the  men,  sobered  by  the  shock  of  great 
surprise,  confessed  and  were  shriven  under  the  summer 
sun  :  only  the  man  Dickon  was  not  among  them.  Then 
the  Prior  bade  them  get  to  work  as  he  should  direct ; 
and  he  set  a  watch  that  no  man  should  flee  the 
village  ;  and  all  obeyed  him. 

Early  and  late  the  Prior  toiled  mth  the  Brethren 
and  his  band  of  workers,  nursing  the  sick,  burying  the 
dead,  and  destroying  the  pestilent  dwelhngs. 

Brother  Leo  was  the  first  to  whom  the  call  came  : 
he  answered  it  like  a  soldier  at  his  post. 

As  the  Prior  rose  from  the  pallet  of  his  dead  son,  one 
bade  him  come  quickly,  for  a  dying  man  had  need  of 
him.     It  was  Dickon. 

The  Prior,  bearing  mth  him  the  Body  of  the  Lord, 
made  haste  to  the  hovel  where  he  lay,  and  shrived  him 
though  he  scarce  could  hear  liis  muttered  words  ;  but 
lo  !  when  he  would  place  the  Host  he  could  not,  for  a 
gold  piece  lay  on  the  man's  tongue.  The  Prior  drew 
back  dismayed,  and  behold,  the  Lord's  hand  struck 

139 


THE    FRUIT 

s^viftly,  and  Dickon  died  with  a  barren  shriving — on 
whom  may  Christ  take  pity  ! 

Next  day  great  grey  clouds  curtained  the  arid,  staring 
sky  ;  and  at  even  came  the  rain.  All  through  the  night 
it  fell ;  and  one  of  the  novices,  who  lay  a-dying  in  the 
Prior's  arms,  heard  it  as  he  passed,  and  fell  back,  joy 
on  his  lips  and  a  radiant  smile  on  his  young  face. 

"  '  Esurientes  imflevit  bonis, ^  "  said  the  Prior,  as  he 
laid  him  down,  blessing  God. 

A  second  no^dce  died,  then  a  third,  and  yet  another ; 
but  there  was  no  need  to  call  further  help  from  the 
Monastery,  for  the  Plague  was  stayed.  Never  had 
cloistered  monks  spent  such  a  strange  season ;  rarely 
such  a  blessed  one. 

The  Feast  of  the  Transfiguration  was  nigh  at 
hand,  and  the  Prior  was  minded  to  return  on  that 
day  to  the  waiting,  anxious  Convent,  for  his  work 
was  done. 

Great  was  the  joy  and  preparation  at  the  Monastery 
when  the  tidings  reached  them  ;  joy  too  for  those  who 
lay  not  in  the  shelter  of  the  cloister  garth,  but,  as  it 
were,  on  the  battlefield  where  they  had  given  their 
lives  for  their  brethren. 

The  holy  day  dawned  without  a  cloud.  A  strong 
west  wind  bowed  the  pines  in  the  forest,  and  they 
worshipped  and  sang  for  joy,  because  of  the  face  of  the 
140 


THE    FIELDS    ARE    WHITE 

Lord.  The  sun  burnt  bright  in  the  great  blue  dome, 
and  earth  shone  with  pale  reflection  of  his  glory. 

The  monks  paced  the  cloister  walks,  and  waited  and 
watched  to  catch  the  signal  from  the  lay-brother  posted 
without.  At  last  the  word  came  that  voices  were  heard 
in  the  distance ;  and  monks  and  novices  hastened  two 
and  two  to  the  gate.  On  the  wind  was  borne  the  sound 
of  a  chant. 

"  'Tis  a  dirge  for  those  that  are  gone,"  said  Brother 
Anselm  ;  and  crossing  themselves,  the  Brothers  chanted 
out  the  sonorous  response  : 

"  Et  lux  per  pel  ua  lucent  eis. 

As  they  reached  the  open  gate,  the  little  band  they 
waited  for  came  slowly  down  the  forest  pathway. 

Four  Brothers,  only  four  ;  and  lo  !  on  their  shoulders 
they  bore  a  rude  bier  of  pine-branches. 

This  was  the  gathering  of  Brother  Hilarius.  Sweet- 
scented  boughs  for  his  last  bed  ;  Mary's  lilies  aglow 
for  tapers  tall ;  the  censer  of  the  forest  swung  by  sun 
and  wind ;   and  the  glory  of  the  face  of  the  Lord. 

He  had  called  his  children  to  him  in  the  late  night- 
watches,  and,  having  kissed  and  blessed  them,  he  bade 
them  turn  him  to  the  east,  for  his  time  had  come  ;  and 
they  obeyed  in  sore  grief  and  perplexed.  Prior  Hilarius 
lay  and  watched  for  the  light,  and  as  dawn  parted  night's 

141 


THE    FRUIT 

veil  with  the  long  foregleam  of  the  coming  day,  he  shut 
his  eyes  like  a  tired  cliild  and  went  home. 

It  was  his  heart,  Brother  Simon  thought ;    but  the 
Sub-Prior  cried  through  his  tears  : — 

"  Nay,  nay,  it  was  God  a-hungered  for  His  dear  son." 
They  bore  the  Prior  into  the  white-clad  Church,  and 
laid  him  on  his  forest-bed  under  the  great  Christ ;  and 
the  novices,  seeing  the  tender  smile  on  the  beautiful 
face,  whispered  one  to  another,  "  The  Prior  hath  found 
his  little  maid."  And  the  Convent  made  Hilarius  a 
wondrous  fair  tomb  of  alabaster  inlaid  with  gold,  and 
carved  him  lying  thereon  with  Mary's  lilies  across  his 
breast. 


THE    END 


142 


TRINTED   By 

TURNBULL   AND   SPEARS, 

EDINBURGH 


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